


raise your hand if you're trash

by moonythejedi394



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: (may have made it up tho), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol is important to the storyline, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Aragorn is a self-sacrificing dickhead, Aromantic, Arwen actually has a personality, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Boromir is confused, Canon Gay Relationship, Dorwinion Wine, Dwarven ale, Enemies to Lovers, Eomer is also sad, Eowyn is oblivious, Everyone Is Gay, F/M, Faramir is stupid and sad, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Frodo is a master cuddler, Gimli is stupidly in love with legolas's dirty mouth, Hate Sex, Legolas has a dirty mouth, M/M, Merry is a dumb, Pillow & Blanket Forts, Pippin is a dumb, Sam Is So Done, Tags Are Fun, and is a power bottom, bc Boromir is confused, bc no one can convince me that legolas taking gimli to the undying lands wasn't gay, but no one cares right, except frodo's parents, if you can't tell already i am the trash queen, sorry frodo's parents, this entire thing is trash, well except like five people
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2018-11-21 22:02:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 55,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11366517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonythejedi394/pseuds/moonythejedi394
Summary: In a world with smartphones and fast cars instead of magic and mighty horses, the University of Erebor is a progressive, liberal arts college; progressive in that they hire gay teachers and allow co-ed dorms, at least. The Fellowship of the Third House on the Left consists of twelve students: two sets of siblings, three sets of friends, six sets of people who were meant for each other, even if a few of them have figured it out so far.In other words: Aragorn is trying very hard to be serious, Arwen is trying very hard to not be. Boromir wants to wave his platinum card around while he still can, Éomer wants to have fun in his last year of university. Gimli has a fondness for hate sex but maybe he wants a little more, Legolas is afraid of what could happen. Éowyn is actually trying to focus on her studies thank you, Faramir is just too ruggedly handsome. Merry and Pippin are just there to have sex and fuck shit up, and Frodo and Sam are just there for the cuddles.tl;dr: the uni housemates AU no one asked for.(on indefinite hiatus.)





	1. one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Aragorn finds peace in chaos, Faramir likes blondes, and Frodo's uncle is not going to be happy.

* * *

 

_i_

_Aragorn_

 

The days of moving are always two things: Loud, and chaotic. There is never any escaping from either of them except to lock oneself in the washroom and hide away with one’s phone, however, this is only a brief respite, as someone will inevitably come and knock upon the door, asking if one is taking a particularly massive shit.

 

And despite hating the loudness and the chaos, Aragorn sat in his small bedroom with the door open while hiding away with his phone so as to have something to distract him but not be so out of sight that he would not be able to help anyone who asked it of him. Arwen lay on his bed, headphones stuffing her ears and a dainty mask upon her face to block out the light, and she snored every few moments. It was a welcome sound in face of the shouting and the banging.

 

Several people passed by his door throughout the day. The rooms on either side of his were taken over, one by his friend Boromir, whom he’d roomed with the year before, and the other by his friend Legolas, whom he’d attended school with before university. He was just glad that he wouldn’t be flanked by strangers. Legolas set all his things in his room rather quickly, Aragorn imagined, because it was not long after his initial arrival that he skulked into Aragorn’s room with a deep-set scowl upon his pale face and his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans.

 

“Move over,” Legolas said gruffly to Arwen, who did no such thing, as she was fast asleep. Instead, Legolas flopped down next to her, taking up her shoulder as a pillow. Arwen draped an arm over his stomach, smacking her lips as she continued sleep.

 

“You’re lucky you’re gay,” Aragorn said dryly to his friend, “otherwise I’d have to kill you for cuddling my girlfriend so much.”

 

“You’re just mad because she likes cuddling me better than you.”

 

“Not true,” Aragorn said. “Her favorite kind is after sex cuddling.”

 

“Gross, mate.”

 

Aragorn merely snorted and continued scrolling through Twitter on his phone. Legolas huffed, making Aragorn glance over at him. The pale boy was making the _pity me for i am most grievously wounded_ face.

 

“What’s with the face?” Aragorn sighed.

 

“There’s no face,” Legolas muttered.

 

“There’s a face,” Aragorn said, then poked Legolas in the cheek. “Who do I need to murder?”

 

“It’s just my dad, again,” Legolas grumbled. “And you can’t murder him.”

 

“I can too! I’m pre-law!”

 

“So?” Legolas laughed, but at least he was laughing. “That’s not going to get you off the hook!”

 

“I’ll get myself off,” Aragorn insisted. “Shouldn’t be too hard.”

 

“What, would you plead insanity?”

 

“Nah, self-defence from your dad’s insanity.”

 

“Fair enough.”

 

Legolas fell quiet and Aragorn returned his attention to his phone. Arwen gave a particularly loud snort, he heard Legolas gasp, and then there was a loud _thud_. Aragorn looked lazily over his shoulder at the floor where his friend was rubbing his now sore ass.

 

“I’ve half a mind to wake her up for that,” Legolas said snappily.

 

“Yeah, you do and both of us will be sleeping on the floor,” Aragorn said dryly.

 

“Why would I be sleeping on the floor? I don’t sleep in here!”

 

“Because she’d likely set your bed on fire or throw it out the window!”

 

“True that,” Arwen said in a mumble, then returned to her soft snoring. Legolas laughed and got up from the floor, then sat himself on Aragorn’s desk.

 

“So, how was your summer?”

 

“Hot,” Aragorn sighed.

 

“Was it the humidity or Arwen in a bikini?”

 

“Both,” Aragorn chuckled. “Her dad had us both slaving away on the ranch from dawn to dusk.”

 

“I’m sure you found times to slip away,” Legolas quipped, making Aragorn smirk.

 

“Nothing like a good dip in the lake to help you cool off,” he said smugly.

 

“Rabbits,” Legolas sighed.

 

“What about you, how was your summer?”

 

Legolas wrinkled his nose. “You know how my dad decided to branch out in the family business?”

 

Aragorn nodded; Legolas’s father ran Dorwinion Vineyards, as his father had done, and as his father had done, and has his father had done, and as his – It had been in the family for generations. Legolas was expected to take over the business eventually, too. Only a few months ago, Dorwinion Vineyards had expanded into brewing ale and beer.

 

“The beer is good, for a company that makes wine,” Aragorn said. “There were a few times it was served at the ranch.”

 

“Yeah, well, Dad’s gone and dragged me to all of the new breweries in both England _and_ France, on top of all the vineyards we’ve gone to see this summer. And then there’s all the beef with Oakenshield Ales, my dad went and bought this really old brewery in Liverpool from under them and now they’ve like sworn a blood feud against us.” Legolas pouted some more, which seemed to be a favorite pastime of his. “I didn’t spend even a week at home and there weren’t even cute guys to flirt with!”

 

“You poor, pitiful creature,” Aragorn said dryly. Legolas hit him in the arm and Aragorn laughed, shoving him off the desk. “What! You are!”

 

“I’m piti _able_ , not piti _ful_!” Legolas scolded him. “And you’re incorrigible!”

 

“But at least I’m hot,” Aragorn said and Legolas snorted.

 

“I can’t refute that,” Legolas grumbled, then shook a fist at him. “Curse you and your gorgeous, soulful eyes!”

 

“Eh?”

 

The two of them turned. On Aragorn’s doorstep was a ginger-haired boy with a frankly impressive beard and a bun. Aragorn’s eyes seemed to focus on that sloppy bun and he said a fast prayer on behalf of the poor kid, as he could swear he could already hear Legolas’s brain going _ALERT ALERT ATTRACTIVE MAN BUN ALERT!_

 

“You must be Gimli,” Aragorn said, standing up quickly. “I’m Aragorn, this is Legolas, that’s Arwen, my girlfriend, but she’s asleep.”

 

“Yeah, Gimli,” said the ginger and shook Aragorn’s hand. “Erm, I actually came by t’ ask you guys what kind of pizza ya’d like. We’re all ordering some, we, I mean, me and the other guys. That is we, though. Sorry, I babble.”

 

“It’s fine,” Aragorn said, “you guys paying cash or –?”

 

“Nah, Boromir is flashing his platinum card around again,” Gimli said, then grinned crookedly – again, Aragorn sent a prayer up to heaven for him on behalf of the crush Legolas probably was developing – “ya’d think he was some sort of billionaire playboy with all tha’ mess.”

 

Aragorn snorted; Boromir was known for his blatant disregard of all the credit cards his father had bestowed upon him. “You know Boromir?”

 

“Aye, went to grade school with him and his brother. You?”

 

“Second year rooming with him,” Aragorn said and Gimli sighed heavily.

 

“God must really hate you, then,” Gimli told him and they both laughed.

 

“Anyway, pizza,” Aragorn said, “Me and Arwen’ll have meat lovers.”

 

“Mushroom and spinach for me,” Legolas said. Gimli wrinkled his nose even as he nodded.

 

“Mushrooms,” he said. “Gross.”

 

“Delicious,” Legolas insisted, sticking his nose in the air. Gimli shrugged.

 

“Have it your way, then. I’ll go and report to the billionaire playboy!”

 

“Thanks!” Aragorn said as Gimli left, heading for the stairs up to the main floor. He turned to Legolas, who was still looking out the door, a faint smile upon his lips. “Down, boy,” he said, returning to his desk.

 

“Did you see,” Legolas said slowly, “his fucking biceps.”

 

“I saw his fucking biceps.”

 

“Damn!” Legolas grinned and dropped onto the bed. “I’d like to draw him like one of my French girls.”

 

“I’m sure you would,” Aragorn sniggered. Arwen groaned and kicked at Legolas faintly, who simply lay back over her knees and sighed.

 

“Maybe this year won’t be so bad after all,” Legolas said.

 

Aragorn just retweeted Mark Hamil’s message of bereavement for the actor who played Luke Skywalker’s death.

 

* * *

 

_ii_

_Faramir_

 

“Mushrooms,” Boromir said, wrinkling his nose. “God, I hope the kid’s not vegetarian.”

 

“What’s wrong with vegetarian?” asked Frodo from the couch. “And I like mushrooms!”

 

Faramir propped his chin upon his fist, leaning on the counter looking out at the sitting room. “There’s tofu in the fridge with the initials LG.”

 

“There’s a vegetarian in our midst!” shouted Pippin, who leapt onto the coffee table for all of three seconds before Sam dragged him back off again.

 

“Guys, you already knew that,” Frodo told them. “I’ve been vegetarian for a year!”

 

“Other than you, o’course,” Pippin said.

 

“Oh, shut up,” Frodo mumbled, but the boy was smiling. Faramir looked back at Boromir and Gimli who were leaning over his brother’s too-small MacBook placing the order.

 

“Should I bother asking Merry what he wants?” Boromir called to the younger boys who had taken over the sitting room, the Fearsome Foursome minus Merry, who was off taking a shower.

 

Pippin paused in his pillow-fight with Sam to gape at Boromir. “And betray the gods of pizza?” he said as if shocked. “Nay! He’ll get cheese and real pizza toppings be damned!”

 

“I should not,” Boromir chuckled as Sam and Pippin resumed their pillow fight. Faramir rolled his eyes and picked up his phone. He checked his texts, then the group chat that had been made with all the new inhabitants of the dorm house. No one had named it yet. This greatly bothered Faramir.

 

 **_to_ ** _Aragorn Elessar, Arwen Erchamion, Boromir Stewards, Eomer Dernhelm, Eowyn Dernhelm, Faramir Stewards, Frodo Baggins, Gimli Durinson, Legolas Greenleaf, Merry Brandybuck, Pippin Took, & Sam Gamgee: from _ **_Eowyn Dernhelm:_ **

if there are people upstairs free Eomer and I could use some help moving our stuff upstairs.

 

 **_to_ ** _Aragorn Elessar, Arwen Erchamion, Boromir Stewards, Eomer Dernhelm, Eowyn Dernhelm, Faramir Stewards, Frodo Baggins, Gimli Durinson, Legolas Greenleaf, Merry Brandybuck, Pippin Took, & Sam Gamgee: from _ **_Faramir Stewards:_ **

_(Faramir Stewards named the group Housemates)_

 

 **_to_ ** _Housemates: from_ **_Merry Brandybuck:_ **

_(Merry Brandybuck named the group MY GOD ANYTHING BUT HOUSEMATES)_

 

 **_to_ ** _MY GOD ANYTHING BUT HOUSEMATES: from_ **_Eowyn Dernhelm:_ **

this is all very interesting but we could use some help

 

 **_to_ ** _MY GOD ANYTHING BUT HOUSEMATES: from_ **_Faramir Stewards:_ **

i’m on my way

 

 **_to_ ** _MY GOD ANYTHING BUT HOUSEMATES: from_ **_Gimli Durinson:_ **

_(Gimli Durinson named the group Sensible Moniker for a GC of Housemates)_

 

 **_to_ ** _Sensible Moniker for a GC of Housemates: from_ **_Merry Brandybuck:_ **

_(Merry Brandybuck named the group Fellowship of the Third House on the Left)_

 

 **_to_ ** _Fellowship of the Third House on the Left: from_ **_Merry Brandybuck:_ **

NOBODY CHANGE IT THIS IS PERFECT

 

Faramir opened the front door and stepped out onto the small portico overlooking stairs and the parking lot. In the second row of cars, two people were pulling boxes from a truck. Faramir took the stairs and crossed the parking lot in a light jog, stopping a few feet shy of the tailgate.

 

“You guys are Eowyn and Eomer?” Faramir asked.

 

“Yep,” said the man, setting down the box in his hands in order to shake Faramir’s. “I’m Eomer, my sister’s Eowyn.”

 

“Good to meet you, I’m Faramir,” he replied. “Have you got many boxes?”

 

“I’ve only got three, but Eomer has five.”

 

A blonde girl pulled her head from the cab of the truck and waved to him. He waved back. She was quite pretty. “I can take some stuff in for you and yell at some of the guys to come and help, I hope you don’t mind being one of two girls, Eowyn.”

 

To that Eowyn laughed and handed him a box; he grunted a little under its weight and shifted his stance to try and even it out. “I was one of one girls growing up in a land of filthy boys,” she told him, “I won’t mind in the slightest.”

 

“Good to know,” Faramir said, already turning back to take the box upstairs. “There’s only two rooms left so you’ll have to fight over the one with the better view!” he called over his shoulder.

 

“Will do!” Eomer called back to him as Faramir started up the steps. Sam appeared at the doorway and hastily flattened himself to the wall so Faramir could pass.

 

“They need more help?” Sam asked.

 

“Yep!” Faramir shouted over his shoulder. “Oi, Boromir, if you’re done with the pizza order go and fetch boxes!”

 

“No, haven’t placed it yet,” Boromir said.

 

“I’ll go,” Gimli said, “I’ll ask what they want while I’m down there.”

 

Faramir set the box in the doorway of the nearest of the two empty rooms; fortunately, it was upstairs, the other empty room was down in the basement. He brushed off his hands and turned round, then stepped away quickly for Eomer to go inside the room.

 

“The other empty one is downstairs,” Faramir told him.

 

“Yeah, the ginger said it was,” Eomer said. “Eowyn’s going to want that one, so could you take that box down to it?”

 

“Yeah, sure,” Faramir said, already mentally groaning about it. He lifted it again and made for the stairs. He took them carefully, as he was hardly able to see his feet, and nearly ran into Legolas Greenleaf.

 

“Sorry!” Legolas said. “Is there more?”

 

“Go outside and see,” Faramir said. “Eowyn’s taking the room down here, Eomer’s taking the one upstairs.”

 

“Got it!”

 

Faramir set the box on the desk in the empty room, taking a moment to crack his spine and neck. Eowyn appeared, stepping into the room and looking around.

 

“You’re right across from the bathroom,” Faramir told her, “at least the one on this end. There’s two bathrooms on this floor.”

 

“Thank god,” Eowyn said, setting down her box and bag. “Bathtub or just a shower?”

 

“Just a shower, unfortunately,” Faramir said. “There’s a bathtub in the bathroom upstairs, though.”

 

“I’ll have to commandeer that one on occasion then,” Eowyn said.

 

“I’m across the hall from you and you’ve got Pippin to your right,” Faramir continued. “Fortunately for you, he spends most nights in Merry’s room instead of the other way round, so at least the noise won’t be too bad.”

 

Eowyn raised an eyebrow at him. Faramir felt his ears go red.

 

“Well, anyway,” he said, heading for the door.

 

“The others got the last of it,” he heard Eowyn say. “Thank you.”

 

“My pleasure,” he said, with one last glance at her – she was standing in the center of the room, her face turned away from him, her hands on her slender hips and her hair falling down past her face – Faramir ducked into his own bedroom.

 

When he had first applied to the University of Erebor three years ago, he had thought little of it when he had checked that small box on his housing application that put him down as willing for a co-ed dorm. Now, with his room across from an extremely lovely woman, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself.

 

But it wasn’t long before there was shouting and commotion again and Gimli banged on his open door, shouting at the top of his lungs, quite unnecessarily, “PIZZA!”

 

* * *

 

_iii_

_Frodo_

 

“Pippin, will you just stop for five fucking seconds!” Frodo half shouted, burying his face further into the couch cushions.

 

“Nay! I shall slay this mighty beast that plagues your every waking hour!”

 

“I’m no beast!” Sam protested loudly, then there was the sound of something soft striking something softer, such as a pillow over Pippin’s skull. “Nor am I a plague on Frodo’s life!”

 

“Frodo, quick, quick, save me, your boyfriend’s going to kill me!”

 

“Good riddance,” Frodo sighed into the cushion.

 

“PIZZA!”

 

Pippin and Sam ceased their pillow duel, or at least Frodo assumed they did, for two pillows suddenly landed on Frodo’s back with two quiet _thump_ s. Frodo lifted his head to look out at the living room, where Pippin and Sam were helping Boromir carry pizza boxes.

 

“How many did you order?” Frodo called out, sitting up. The pillows fell to the ground with a few more _thump_ s.

 

“There’s twelve of us,” Boromir said.

 

“Tell me you didn’t order _twelve_ pizzas!” Frodo gasped.

 

“No! What kind of a fool do you take me for?” Boromir said haughtily. “I ordered ten!”

 

Frodo rolled his eyes, though as long as he got mushrooms on his, he didn’t really care. As Frodo rose from the couch to inspect the pizzas, a veritable flood of people came from the basement. Merry had finally emerged from the shower, it seemed, for his friend led the charge. Behind him were Gimli and Faramir, plus an assortment of people Frodo assumed to be Aragorn, Legolas, Arwen, and Eowyn. The blonde girl had to be Eowyn, he’d seen her coming in earlier, which left Arwen as the raven-haired girl, though which of the two men was Aragorn and which was Legolas, Frodo had no clue.

 

“I present the feast!” Boromir exclaimed delightedly. “And there _were_ coupons, Faramir, it was buy three get one free!”

 

“So you bought ten,” Faramir said, unimpressed. “Impressive.”

 

Boromir cuffed his brother on the back of the head lightly before joining Sam in setting out the boxes. “We’ve got three cheese, three meat lovers, two Hawaiian, and two with mushrooms and spinach. And before we dig in,” Boromir held up a finger, making the group surrounding the kitchen counter pause in anticipation, “I would like to express my disappointment in whoever actually requested mushrooms.”

 

“Express your disappointment in my ass, Boromir,” Frodo said shortly, snagging a piece of the mushroom-covered pizza. Faramir snorted loudly and several others chuckled. Sam handed him a paper plate and Frodo took it acceptingly.

 

“I would never dare let anything express itself anywhere near your ass, my dear boy,” Boromir said pompously as the others began taking plates and pizza. “I’d much rather not get myself beaten to death with that club you call a walking stick.”

 

“Good!” Frodo said around a mouthful, then stuck his tongue out with a mushroom sat on the tip. He dropped back onto the sofa, where he was soon joined by Sam, Merry, and Pippin, though the couch was not quite large enough for all for of them and Pippin was more sitting on Merry than next to him.

 

“We should play some games!” Gimli called out. “Truth or dare!”

“No, never have I ever,” said the blonde boy who was either called Aragorn or Legolas. Frodo pulled out his phone and checked the Facebook group chat they’d started for their two pictures; Legolas was the blonde, Aragorn had a beard. He could remember that.

 

“I hate never have I ever,” Sam said, pouting. “I’m a ruddy virgin!”

 

“I hate it too!” Merry protested. “I’m a fucking slut!”

 

“Never have I ever!” echoed Eomer.

 

“Yeah, let’s play,” said Aragorn the Bearded. “It’ll be a good way to get to know each other.”

 

“Fine,” Gimli contested. “Ten fingers, and we’re starting with Merry!”

 

“Fuck you!” Merry said.

 

“Would Pippin mind?” Gimli asked innocently, and Pippin half choked on his pizza.

 

“Never have I ever fucked a redhead,” Merry said pointedly, and the game was started. Aragorn the Bearded lost a finger first, as did Boromir and Eomer, then it was on to Sam.

 

“Never have I ever had sex at all,” Sam said, and it was very effective, everyone but himself and Frodo lost a finger.

 

“Never had the occasion or haven’t found the right person?” Legolas the Blonde asked Sam curiously.

 

“Never had the desire,” Sam corrected. “See, we’re learning already.”

 

“You were opposed to this,” Merry reminded him in a whisper.

 

“Never have I failed a class,” Frodo said before Sam could reply.

 

“Fuck you,” Pippin said, dropping a finger. Boromir made the universal gesture of _i’m watching you always watching_ and dropped another finger.

 

“We’re in a house of nerds,” sighed Aragorn, who was to Frodo’s left. “Never have I ever had a mohawk.”

 

“You’re plotting against me,” said Legolas, who surprisingly dropped a finger.

 

“What’s the story behind tha’?” Gimli asked him incredulously. “I can’t see you wanting a mohawk!”

 

“It was for a pride parade,” Legolas sighed.

 

“I have pictures!” Aragorn said delightedly. “He did it all up with rainbow colors and everything!”

 

“Don’t you dare!” Legolas threatened, then Arwen raised a hand.

 

“If everyone would check the group chat,” she said, “one rainbow mohawk’ed Legolas is awaiting them.”

 

“No!” Legolas shouted, but phones were out and they were all laughing.

 

 **_to_ ** _Fellowship of the Third House on the Left: from_ **_Arwen Erchamion:_ **

_(MULTI-MEDIA ATTACHMENT)_

 

“I hate you,” Legolas growled to Arwen, who just smiled serenely.

 

“Quick poll,” Merry called. “Raise your hand if you’re straight.”

 

Aragorn, Arwen, Boromir, Eowyn, and Eomer all raised their hands. Then Eowyn hit Eomer in the ribs and Eomer lowered his hand again, shamefaced.

 

“Wonderful!” Merry crowed. “We outnumber the straights!”

 

“Never have I ever eaten sushi,” Arwen said, and the game continued.

 

“It’s quite good,” Frodo told her; he, Faramir, Boromir, and Legolas lost fingers.

 

“It’s raw fish!” Arwen protested.

 

“It’s delicious!” Legolas insisted.

 

“Yeah, but it’s raw fish!”

 

“I’m going to see you eat some one of these days,” Legolas insisted. “Mark my words, woman!”

 

“I’d like to see you try!”

 

Legolas made a face at her, and she laughed. Beside her Eowyn set down her plate.

 

“Never have I ever been on an airplane.”

 

“Lucky!” Merry shouted. Nearly everyone lost a finger, except Sam and Eowyn herself.

 

“Never have I ever been to America,” said Eomer.

 

Apparently, none of them had. They all looked around, then Eomer shrugged when no one lost a finger. “Guess it’s not a popular place,” he said.

 

“Never have I ever kissed a boy!” Boromir said triumphantly. Beside him, Faramir scowled as everyone in the room dropped a finger, except Aragorn.

 

“The curse of bisexuality, brother,” Boromir said smugly to Faramir. Faramir only smirked back.

 

“Never have I ever been thrown from a horse,” he said with equal smugness.

 

“I hate you,” Boromir said as he dropped a finger. On his other side, Eomer sniggered.

 

“Never have I ever won at Call of Duty,” Gimli declared, a little too proudly for such a shameful confession. Beside him, Legolas gaped.

 

“You’ve never won at Call of Duty?” Legolas asked.

 

“Not honestly,” Gimli admitted, grinning. “Maybe by cheating.”

 

“You’re too proud of that,” Aragorn said suspiciously. Everyone except Frodo, Legolas, and Arwen lost fingers.

 

“Never have I ever lost at Call of Duty,” Legolas said, his nose in the air.

 

“No fair, you can’t turn my thing against me!”

 

“Yeah, that’s against the rules,” Pippin told him.

 

“Fine,” Legolas sighed. “Never have I ever won at Halo.”

 

“How can you have never lost at Call of Duty but never win at Halo?” Pippin demanded. “They’re basically the same thing!”

 

“They are so different!” Frodo protested. “Halo actually has a storyline, for one!”

“Call of Duty has a storyline!” Legolas insisted.

 

Frodo looked at him. “Does it have a grand overarching story that follows through with every game, or is it just bits and pieces thrown together for a game people only buy for couch co-op anyway?”

 

Legolas opened his mouth, closed it, and then scowled. “I’m not sure I like you, Frodo Baggins.”

 

Frodo responded by sticking his tongue out, which was very mature of him.

 

“I’m next!” Pippin said. “Never have I ever…”

 

Merry leaned over and whispered something in his ear, which made Pippin snort and shove at his boyfriend. “I’m not admitting that,” he said. “Never have I ever gotten a speeding ticket.”

 

“I think parking tickets should count,” Sam said with a pout, even as he put down a finger. Pippin only stuck out his tongue. About half of them lost fingers, leaving Aragorn, Eowyn, Boromir, and Faramir untouched.

 

“I am about to die,” Boromir said. “Merry, don’t you dare say something I’ve done!”

 

“Never have I fucked a girl,” Merry said.

 

Boromir scowled, then carefully adjusted his three remaining fingers and flipped Merry off. Faramir, Eomer, and Aragorn also lost fingers, then Aragorn elbowed Arwen.

 

“It was one time!” she grumbled, putting down a finger.

 

“Ooh, spill, girl!” Pippin shouted.

 

“I don’t kiss and tell,” Arwen said, sticking her nose in the air.

 

“I thought you said you were straight?” Frodo asked, his brow furrowing.

 

“I am, but everyone gets a little bi-curious sometimes.”

 

Aragorn, for some reason, sniggered. Arwen elbowed him back.

 

“Never have I ever broken a bone,” Sam continued the game.

 

“Lucky,” Legolas said; he, Gimli, Aragorn, Eowyn, and Boromir lost fingers.

 

“You’d better not drop me down to one, Frodo!” Boromir threatened.

 

Frodo made a show of tapping his chin, then grinned at his friend. “Never have I ever been arrested.”

 

Boromir gave him one middle finger, then dropped his index finger on the other hand and glared. “I’ll get you back for this, Baggins,” he said. Frodo grinned innocently at him.

 

“Never have I ever been to a brewery,” said Aragorn.

 

Nearly all of Frodo’s friends groaned, but so did Legolas for some reason. Frodo frowned at Legolas, a little curious now. He knew why _he’d_ been to breweries before and why he would groan about it, but why would Legolas?

 

“Breweries aren’t all that bad,” Gimli tried.

 

“They’re boring!” Legolas insisted. “I spent half my summer touring breweries all across the UK and Europe!”

 

“Really?” Gimli said, excitedly. “Why?”

 

“My dad’s company just bought a shit ton of them,” Legolas explained. “They just added ale and beer to the stuff they make, as well as wine.”

 

At that sentence, Gimli and Frodo both stiffened; Sam too, in sympathy for Frodo. That sounded…

 

“What company does your dad work for?” Merry asked hesitantly.

 

“Dorwinion Vineyards,” Legolas sighed, “but he doesn’t just work there, he owns it.”

 

“Ah, fuck,” Frodo said. “Uncle Thorin’s going to kill me.”

 

Frodo’s uncle by marriage and Gimli’s like third cousin two times removed, Thorin Durinson, had been CEO of Oakenshield Ales before he retired. Oakenshield Ales and Dorwinion Vineyards had been at odds practically since the two companies had been formed, but ever since Dorwinion Vineyards had started brewing beer as well as making wine, the rivalry had been doubled. Gimli’s father was the CFO for the company and hated Dorwinion Wine even more, Frodo could remember hours upon hours of ranting about stock prices and unit prices and other things Frodo didn’t care about. He was an English Major, not a Business Major.

 

Gimli had already leapt from his seat. “Dorwinion Vineyards!” he gasped. “Those French bastards!”

 

Legolas stared up at Gimli in confusion. “What, do you really love Irish beer or something?”

 

“My family owns Oakenshield Ales!” Gimli said, puffing his chest up like the heir to a brewing company should. “Dorwinion Vineyards is our sworn enemy!”

 

“Dude, you’re business rivals, not warring kingdoms,” Boromir said to Gimli.

 

“Seriously?” Legolas said, ignoring Boromir and wrinkling his nose. “Oakenshield Ales is such a cheap company.”

 

“Cheap!” Gimli gasped, and even Frodo dropped his jaw a little. “Cheap! We brew our beer with pride and care!”

 

“You brew bitter shit,” Legolas snorted. “Honestly, even if my dad’s company didn’t brew beer themselves, I still wouldn’t go near Oakenshield crap.”

 

Gimli gasped, then gestured to Frodo helplessly, seemingly at a loss for words. Frodo raised his hands.

 

“I don’t drink,” he said. “And Uncle Thorin hasn’t touched the stuff for fifteen years, not since – anyway.”

 

Drink was still a bit of a sore subject around his uncles, even more so since Frodo’s parents had died. Frodo didn’t care to discuss it in too much detail.

 

“You still can defend the family’s honor!” Gimli insisted.

 

“I’ve never drunk Dorwinion wine or Oakenshield beer,” Frodo said. “I can’t defend one or insult the other.”

 

“You have good taste in one and poor choices in the other,” Legolas said haughtily. “My father’s wine is the best on the market.”

 

“It’s watered down grape juice!” Gimli insisted. “I’ve had better shit at mass!”

 

“I’ve had better beer from convenience stores for a dollar a cap,” Legolas snapped.

 

“So, while they fight, you don’t drink?” Aragorn said.

 

“No, never,” Frodo said. “Family issues, solidarity.”

 

“I get it,” Aragorn replied, nodding as his eyes met Frodo’s. “Who was it, that had the problem?”

 

Frodo hesitated, then shrugged. “My uncle, but my parents were also killed by a drunk driver. Uncle Thorin, though, like I said, he’s been sober for fifteen years.”

 

“That’s great for him,” said Aragorn. “I’m sorry about your parents.”

 

“It’s okay, I was just a kid,” Frodo said with a shrug. “Uncle Bilbo and Thorin, they adopted me, so I had plenty of help.”

 

“I guess it’d be difficult, though, surrounded by the people who make all those things,” Aragorn half yelled; Gimli and Legolas were having a full on shouting match at that point.

 

“It was at first, but Uncle Thorin actually really helped me a lot, since he knew about drink ruining people’s lives and dealing with it and all.”

 

“Dorwinion Vineyards could wipe out Oakenshield Ales if we put our minds to it!”

 

“Oakenshield Ales is the favorite brew all across Ireland, you snooty French bastard!”

 

“I’d imagine it is, you lot love your potatoes!”

 

“Don’t you diss the potato!” Sam chimed in.

 

“Sam, don’t bother, love,” Frodo said hastily before either Gimli or Legolas could reply.

 

“Yeah, Legolas will realize he’s being a brat in a minute,” Aragorn added.

 

“And Gimli will realize he’s being a child,” Frodo said, shooting a pointed look his friend’s way.

 

“Frodo Baggins, I am defending my family’s honor!” Gimli snapped.

 

“I am no brat!” Legolas insisted.

 

“You sure act like one!” Gimli retorted.

 

“You act like a brat!”

 

“Never have I ever got into a shouting match over beer!” Arwen shouted.

 

Gimli and Legolas stopped, then both of them had the decency to look shameful and sit down.

 

“Three fingers,” Legolas admitted bashfully.

 

“I’m done to one,” Boromir sighed.

 

“Really?” Sam asked.

 

“I really hate Indian pale ales,” Boromir said thoughtfully.

 

Faramir patted Boromir’s arm with a wrinkled nose that was not at all sympathetic.

 

“Sorry, mate,” Gimli mumbled in Legolas’s vague direction.

 

“Sorry,” Legolas echoed faintly.

 

“Never have I ever been on TV,” Eowyn mumbled half-heartedly.

 

“I’m dead,” Boromir said, throwing down his hands. “I’m out, and I’m getting a shower. Gimli, Legolas, feel free to have like hate sex or something if it’ll keep you from glaring at each other.”

 

Boromir rose while Gimli squawked and Legolas blushed, and thus the mini game and pizza party was disbanded. Eomer wandered off to his room, Legolas, Aragorn, and Arwen to Arwen’s room, Gimli and Faramir to the basement, Eowyn on their trail, leaving Frodo and Sam alone with Pippin and Merry on the couch.

 

“That was intense,” Pippin said.

 

“No kidding,” Merry muttered. “Who knew the heirs of two rival companies would end up in the same dorm house?”

 

“You okay, Frodo?” Sam asked him.

 

“I’m fine,” Frodo admitted. “Maybe once, a long time ago I wouldn’t be, but really, I’m okay.”

 

“You sure?” Sam said.

 

“Yep,” Frodo sighed.

 

“Alright, well, we’ll leave you two aces here, but me and Pippin got to go break in the new bed,” Merry said.

 

“Have fun,” Frodo said in a bored tone while Pippin grinned and jumped up, much too eater.

 

“I’ll never understand all that,” Sam sighed.

 

“Me neither,” Frodo admitted. Then he kissed Sam’s cheek. “I’m glad we can not understand sex together.”

 

Sam blushed, because he always did, and squeezed his shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _hi! i'm branching out! this story is going to have short chapters and probs have infrequent/random updates, i'm sorry, but i've just got it started and i rlly wanted to share it. i've got a plan tho, don't worry._


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Legolas is radiant, Aragorn is everyone's mother, and Boromir has a rude awakening.

* * *

 

_i_

_Legolas_

 

If someone had told him before the semester started that he would be waking up as naked as the day he was born with someone he was _told_ he had to despise on business principles, Legolas would have likely asked if booze was involved. The answer would be, of course, yes.

 

Halloween was Legolas’s favorite of all holidays, and would have been even if he didn’t love autumn the way he did. The party had started as all parties do; Arwen had dragged Legolas and Aragorn with her, Legolas because he was her gay best friend and Aragorn because she needed to make sure she could have fun dancing without some frat douche trying to roofie her. Well, Legolas could handle that too, but he as he was more focused on having fun on the dance floor right next to her, that left Aragorn to keep the both of them drug-free.

 

Arwen had somehow convinced Legolas to do a matching costume with her, which was how he ended up dressed like a fairy, but at the same time, the slut rule was involved, which was how he was almost naked even before he ended up in bed with Gimli. But again, there was booze.

 

“I fucking _hate_ Jell-O shots!” Legolas shouted as Arwen downed her fifth. Aragorn shook his head at them, happy with his beer. Oakenshield Ale, Legolas noticed, but he didn’t give enough fucks to fill a pencil box at that moment whether Oakenshield Ale was good or bad.

 

“Bitch, you’ve had like seven already!” Arwen scolded him, but she wasn’t handing him another, so that was a win in Legolas’s book.

 

“That doesn’t mean I can’t _hate_ them,” Legolas insisted. He plucked Aragorn’s beer from his friend’s hand and took a swig, waving a hand when Aragorn protested. “I mean, Jell-O is already a disgusting slimy mess, who thought adding vodka was a good idea?”

 

“Jell-o is delicious, thank you,” Arwen said, sticking her glittery nose in the air. Legolas stuck his tongue out at her, not caring that it was slightly blue from the Jell-O, and Arwen elbowed him before stealing the beer.

 

“You two are children,” Aragorn commented.

 

“What?” Arwen asked.

 

“You two are children!” Aragorn repeated in a shout.

 

“Oh, this is my favorite song!” Arwen shouted, completely not hearing or ignoring her boyfriend’s words. “C’mere!”

 

She grabbed Legolas’s hands instead of Aragorn’s, because Aragorn was terrible at dancing. Legolas probably should have been concerned about all the stereotypes he was fulfilling, but his chest was warm with liquor and beer so, again, not enough fucks to fill a pencil box.

 

As Arwen and he danced, Legolas let inhibition take over his movements and maybe he wanted to attract attention to his ass as he twisted and shook his hips, but, again, booze. If he’d been sober, he wouldn’t have leaned into the strong arms that reached for his waist, he wouldn’t have moved away from Arwen to shake said ass in a more convenient vantage point, he wouldn’t have smirked back at Gimli or threaded his fingers through his hair or batted his eyelashes. If he’d been sober, he would have remembered who he was dancing with, he wouldn’t let Gimli’s hands roam, he wouldn’t throw his head back to expose his neck, he wouldn’t have gasped at the sensation of lips and beard at his skin. If he had had maybe six Jell-O shots and two fewer beers, he wouldn’t have waved goodbye to Arwen while she laughed at him, wouldn’t have followed Gimli out of the frat house or into Gimli’s room instead of his own at the dorm. To be honest, Legolas wasn’t even sure how they ended up back at the dorm.

 

His heart was pounding and his breath was coming in gasps. Gimli’s mouth sucked at a nipple, his hands trailing fire down Legolas’s bare skin, his heavy weight on top of Legolas making him arch his back into him. Gimli bit at his nipple and Legolas let out a sinful moan which only turned to a gasp as Gimli ground his hips into Legolas’s. Gimli trailed kisses up his chest, catching his mouth in a hungry kiss. Legolas tore at Gimli’s shirt, not caring when he popped off buttons, then Gimli yanked it off of him and Legolas let his hands explore his hard chest. Legolas let out a little keening whine and Gimli attacked his lips again; Legolas bucked his hips upward, then hooked a leg over Gimli’s back in a desperate plea for friction. Then Gimli’s hand was shoving past his tutu and down into the leggings Legolas wore and Legolas let out another gasp.

 

“You want to be on your stomach or on your back when I fuck you?” Gimli growled, his voice low, dark, and Legolas could only buck up into his hand. “Answer me, frenchie.”

 

“Back,” Legolas mumbled. He lifted his hips up again and Gimli yanked down what remained of his costume, then fumbled with his own trousers.

 

“I’ve got shit in the nightstand,” Gimli said, mouthing at Legolas’s neck again, nipping gently here and there. “Condoms, lube.”

 

Legolas reached out blindly, knocked over something that felt like a cup but felt no wetness so it had to have been empty. Gimli pressed down against him again and Legolas couldn’t help the soft gasping moan; teeth closed on his earlobe and he all forgot his hunt for Gimli’s lube and condoms, the lips sucking on his flesh clearing his brain.

 

“Hurry up, frenchie,” Gimli growled into his ear and Legolas shivered. He fumbled a bit more, then glanced over and lifted his head up to find it. He snatched a silver packet and found a bottle under it, then pressed them to Gimli’s hand on his chest. Gimli snatched the packet first, ripping it open with his teeth – Legolas’s breath caught in his throat at the sight. His eyes followed the latex covering, his heart pounding like a drum in his ears. Gimli then squeezed a dollop of the slick white lube onto his fingers, then met Legolas’s eyes.

 

“You hurry up,” Legolas said before Gimli could speak. Gimli hesitated a second, then grinned and caught his lips in a fast-paced kiss. Legolas tangled his fingers into Gimli’s hair, then moaned into his mouth at the first finger. The hum of Gimli’s voice and the fever of his lips and the movement of his fingers had Legolas in a trance.

 

Sunlight. Legolas squinted his eyelids, already willing to murder whoever had forgotten to shut the blinds of the one window in the room. Other than the light and his pounding headache, Legolas felt very warm and content. His back was pressed to something firm, he had probably piled his pillows against the wall the night before. His blanket was tangled around his waist, and in his half-stupor, he rather thought that it felt like he was being held. He shifted onto his other side, letting out a content little sigh when the light was blocked by his back and he settled back into the warmth. His blankets squeezed gently, then his pillows exhaled slowly.

 

His pillows inhaled and then exhaled again, and it dawned on Legolas that he was not wrapped in blankets and pillows, because pillows did not breathe or have steady heartbeats or murmur soft snores, but in the arms of another person. Legolas opened his eyes and blinked, then his blood ran cold.

 

Yep. Booze was to blame. Gimli inhaled and exhaled, not a pillow, not blankets, not a figment of his imagination, and very naked.

 

Legolas tore from his arms with haste, jumping off the bed even as Gimli opened his eyes and blinked blearily around. Legolas didn’t hear what he said, as he was too busy snatching his flimsy costume leggings from the ground and tugging them on.

 

“I don’t know what happened,” Legolas said; he couldn’t look at him. “I blame the alcohol, it’s not happening again, and no one hears of this!”

 

Gimli blinked at him, then seemed to realize what was going on and sat up with a jerk. “You!” he gasped. “We! No!”

 

“No!” Legolas echoed. “Not again, no one can know, I don’t know what I was thinking!”

 

“Fuck!” Gimli gasped, in a much different way than he had the night before; Legolas hastily tried to repress the memory, he would never acknowledge this, never, he wouldn’t even think of it when he was alone and in need of a wank, never!

 

“I don’t know what the fuck I was doing either!” Legolas snapped. “You didn’t –”

 

“If you’re about to accuse me of drugging you, save your breath,” Gimli hissed; he was drawing back his blankets as if to hide himself from Legolas’s view, little good it did, Legolas would have that image burned into his mind forever, of Gimli sat back on his knees looking down on him with blown pupils, naked and ha– Repressing! He was repressing the memory! But Gimli was talking again and his words caught at Legolas’s pride, making anger flare up in him. “I wouldn’t touch you unless I was already wasted!”

 

“Are you calling me ugly?” Legolas spat.

 

“I’m not calling you radiant,” Gimli said, then paused and blushed. Legolas frowned.

 

“That’s a really random adjective, mate,” he said hesitantly. Gimli’s blush spread to his neck and Legolas felt his own cheeks heat up. “Erm… Are you calling me radiant?”

 

“Maybe so,” Gimli admitted snappishly, then jerked a finger in Legolas’s direction, “but I’d never fuck you!”

 

“Clearly, you did,” Legolas snapped, “I’ve got your cum crusted all over me, you disgusting prick!”

 

Gimli stopped, swallowed, then very determinedly did not meet Legolas’s eyes. He gathered the blankets closer to him, bunching them up around his chest and lap. “Well, I wouldn’t when I was in my right mind!”

 

“I wasn’t in my right mind, obviously we were both too drunk to realize who the other was!” Never mind the fact that Legolas very clearly remembered gasping Gimli’s name several times in between moans and pleas of _faster, god, faster, harder, please, Gimli!_ – Legolas was _repressing_ that memory! Why was his brain refusing to obey him? “If I’d been sober, this would have never happened!”

 

“What, are you calling me ugly?” Gimli demanded.

 

Legolas opened his mouth, shut it, then glared. He turned on his heel and grabbed the doorknob and twisted it. Then twisted it again.

 

“You locked it,” Legolas hissed. The doorknob had no switch for him to turn, only a keyhole. “Where’s the key?”

 

He whipped around, in time to catch Gimli snapping his jaw shut and blushing as his gaze jerked up from what was Legolas’s ass. Legolas flushed as well, then tried to cover his chest with his arms, wishing that his costume had included a shirt.

 

“Where’s the key?” Legolas repeated. “Get up, you half-wit, help me find it!”

 

Gimli glared at him, then flung the blankets off of himself and hopped off the bed. He stuck his fists on his hips and continued to glare. Legolas gulped. He wasn’t looking Gimli in the eye, that was for certain. Gimli snatched his jeans up from the floor and dug around in the pockets, then dropped them and checked the nightstand. Legolas’s eyes trailed after his ass, then didn’t move when Gimli turned back around to face him, holding up the key.

 

Gimli followed his gaze, then flushed, color spreading down his neck to his chest covered in fine red hairs. Legolas swallowed, not seeming to be able to move his gaze. Part of him was considering not repressing the night before for use when he was alone and in need of a good wank, as it seemed rather a good idea. He realized with a jolt that Gimli’s gaze was on the same spot on Legolas and that the front of Legolas’s cheap leggings had become tented.

 

“You could, y’know, wait a mo’ before running off,” Gimli said thickly. Legolas’s gaze trailed down again and he bit his lip. Gimli was beginning to mirror Legolas’s situation, though, in Gimli’s case, it was much nicer to look at. “Let me fix tha’ for you.”

 

“What,” Legolas said raspily, “did I just say. Two minutes ago.”

 

“Never happening again,” Gimli said. “‘Course, it won’t happen again. It just might not be over with at the moment?”

 

“Maybe it isn’t,” said Legolas in a careful voice.

 

“So, not again after this is over?”

 

“Right.”

 

Who could blame him, Gimli was a _very_ good lover.

 

 

_ii_

_Arwen_

 

“Have you seen Legolas yet?” Aragorn asked her, stirring eggs in a pan. Arwen, laid back on the island counter with an ice pack draped over her eyes, shrugged dramatically.

 

“Haven’t seen him since he vanished with Gimli,” she said.

 

Aragorn cursed suddenly and she lifted her ice pack to look at him. “You okay?”

 

“Yeah, just, touched the pan.” Aragorn turned back to her, his brow furrowed. “Legolas vanished with Gimli?”  


“Gimli’s door is locked, too,” said Merry, lying next to Arwen with a similar ice pack. He raised a hand with one finger raised in a mock serious stance, despite the fact that he was lying flat on the counter. “He locks his door in only one situation.”

 

“Is it in poor taste for me to hope Legolas is not here at all but in someone else’s dorm house?” Aragorn asked Arwen with a wrinkled nose.

 

“Hey, maybe they’ll start getting along,” Arwen said, adjusting her ice pack. “Maybe they’ll stop shooting daggers with their eyes.”

 

“And start shooting them with other body parts?” Merry asked with a snort.

 

“That’s putting it crudely, but yes.”

 

“I’m not sharing this with anyone if you two don’t stop talking about my best friend having sex with a housemate.”

 

“Dear, you offered to make eggs for all of us, twelve people, you’re not eating it all by yourself.”

 

Aragorn huffed and Arwen didn’t need to lift her ice pack to tell that he was scowling at the giant pan of scrambled eggs. She reached out with her foot and groped with her toes until she touched flannel and heard Aragorn yelp.

 

“Chill,” she told him, patting his ass with her toes.

 

Her ice pack was lifted and she scowled at Aragorn’s scowl. She made a face and he snorted, then gave her a quick peck on the lips.

 

“Gross!” Merry sighed. “Should you be pressing your sexuality upon the young eyes of a child such as me?”

 

“Shut up, I heard your headboard hitting the wall last night,” Arwen shot to Merry.

 

“Maybe I was having a nightmare! Maybe I needed cuddles from my bestest friend. Is that so bad?”

 

“You’re a child,” Aragorn said to Merry.

 

“That’s your favorite insult, isn’t it?” Merry asked him, lifting his ice pack.

 

“Yep!” Aragorn said and Merry stuck out his tongue.

 

“Very mature,” Arwen said.

 

“Shut up, I heard your headboard hitting the wall last night,” Merry echoed with an impish grin. Arwen raised her arms in a dramatic shrug once more.

 

“Maybe I was having a nice dream and I needed special cuddles from my bestest friend,” she said. “Is that so bad?”

 

Merry snorted.

 

Arwen heard footsteps and tilted her head back to see who was approaching. She gave Frodo a wave and pulled her ice pack back over her eyes as Aragorn returned to the eggs.

 

“Breakfast?” she heard Frodo mumble.

 

“Eggs,” Aragorn answered. “And bacon, except you’re not going to want any anyway.”

 

“Nope,” Frodo said, then she heard a yawn. Arwen shifted to lean on her elbows and pushed her ice pack up her forehead. Frodo shut his mouth and rubbed at his eyes, appearing much like a very young child.

 

There were more footsteps and Arwen twisted to look at the stairs. Pippin was wandering upstairs with Faramir and Eowyn behind him and Sam had just exited his room.

 

“Look, mum, you’re collecting orphans,” Arwen said to Aragorn. “How will you manage to feed them all?”

 

“Shut up,” Aragorn chuckled, but he was already handing out plates. “I’m just going to leave this here and when everyone else gets up they can take it.”

 

“If you mean,” Arwen said with a sigh. “I’m not sure why I even got out of bed.”

 

“Probably because you kicked me in your sleep and off the bed,” Aragorn told her snarkily, “and you just had to laugh.”

 

“That’s a noble cause!” Merry piped up.

 

“Where’s Gimli?” Pippin asked all of a sudden. “I haven’t seen him since yesterday.”

 

“His door is locked,” Merry told him.

 

“Ohhhh,” said Pippin, then he tapped his nose. “I see. Don’t be hasty.”

 

“I don't get it,” Arwen said to Aragorn as the rest of them giggled. Aragorn shrugged.

 

“Who’s he dragged in, then?” Frodo asked as he speared a clump of egg on his fork.

 

“I think he was the one being dragged,” Arwen said darkly. “If I know my gay best friend, he did the dragging.”

 

Frodo choked and Sam thumped his back before realizing what Arwen had said apparently and choking himself. “Legolas?” Frodo demanded, eyes a little watery.

 

“That’s what all the grapevines say,” Arwen answered in a sing-song tone.

 

Aragorn grabbed her foot and lifted her leg into the air to display the tattoo of grapevines covering her calf. “I hear they got it from a reputable source,” he said, giving her a look. Arwen stuck her nose in the air.

 

“But they hate each other!” Frodo said.

 

“That can work sometimes, you know, makes for quite a lot of passion,” Faramir mumbled. They all looked at him. “What?” he asked. “Just because I wear cardigans doesn’t make me a granddad.”

 

Arwen raised her eyebrows as Eowyn coughed after choking on her eggs. She glanced between the two, then nodded to herself, deciding she would see them get together by Christmas. Aragorn caught her eye and gave her the _ho don’t do it_ look. She grinned, and the _ho don’t do it_ look was followed by the facepalm of _oh my god_.

 

“These eggs are really good,” Pippin announced with his mouth full.

 

“Gimli spent the night with Legolas and that’s what you focus on?” Frodo asked him in incredulity.

 

“What, it was going to happen eventually,” Pippin said, “you saw how Gimli kept staring at Legolas’s ass when they first met.”

 

“But they hate each other,” Frodo insisted.

 

“What Faramir said,” Pippin muttered, shoving another forkful into his mouth. Frodo and Sam exchanged exasperated looks.

 

“Everything is so much simpler when you don’t care about sex, yes, we know,” Merry sighed with a teasing tone. “Quit waving your wisdom and simple lives in our faces.”

 

“Oh, but then you’d never learn from our wisdom,” Frodo pointed out. “You wouldn’t have failed maths that one year if you took the time to listen to our wisdom.”

 

“I failed because the teacher was terrible!”

 

“Pretty sure it was because you were off fucking me instead of studying,” Pippin said with his mouth full again.

 

Merry scowled at Pippin. “You’re meant to be on my side!”

 

“How did you manage to avoid studying so much?” Arwen asked in reverie. “How did you manage to convince him to avoid it with you! I have a hard enough time getting Aragorn to pay attention to me when he’s working on _law_ shit, and nothing is more boring than law.”

 

“I think it was because I was just as disinterested in studying,” Pippin said.

 

“Fair enough,” Arwen sighed, then poked Aragorn with her foot. “Hey, are you done mothering this lot? Can we go make the headboard hit the wall some more?”

 

While Aragorn scowled at her and Pippin choked with laughter on his eggs, Arwen was completely serious. “You are incorrigible,” Aragorn told her amongst giggles and snorting laughter.

 

“What she do?” asked a new voice; they turned to see Eomer walking up in pajamas, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

 

“Nothing,” Aragorn said hastily while Merry said: “She propositioned him for sex.”

 

Eomer blinked for a moment, then turned around and headed back for his room. “It’s too early for this,” he shouted.

 

“It’s past noon!” Aragorn called after him. “I made eggs!”

 

Eomer stopped, then turned around and walked back over to them. He took a fork and a plate, then hastened back to his room. Aragorn shook his head.

 

Arwen felt her phone buzz and sat up to pull it out, waking the screen and unlocking it to find a message.

 

 **_to_ ** _Fellowship of the Third House on the Left: from_ **_Merry Brandybuck:_ **

_(Merry Brandybuck changed Aragorn Elessar’s nickname to Mom-Friend)_

 

Arwen snorted and high-fived Merry, who was grinning. The others had checked their phones by then as well, except for Aragorn since Arwen had it, who was now looking at them all suspiciously.

 

“What did who do?” Aragorn asked, and they all laughed some more. Arwen held out her phone and Aragorn’s brow furrowed while he leaned in. “Hey!” he gasped as he snatched for her phone, but she pulled it away. “I’m not the mom-friend!”

 

“Raise your hand if you think Aragorn is the mom-friend,” Merry said, shoving his hand in the air. Arwen’s joined it, as did five more.

 

“I’m not the mom-friend!” Aragorn insisted.

 

“You are now,” she said. “And you’re not allowed to change it or I won’t touch you for a month!”

 

Aragorn scowled. The sniggerings didn’t end, then doubled while Arwen’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it again and turned red.

 

 **_to_ ** _Fellowship of the Third House on the Left: from_ **_Merry Brandybuck:_ **

_(Merry Brandybuck changed Arwen Erchamion’s nickname to Mom-Friend’s Wife)_

 

“I’ll accept it,” Arwen stated. “Aragorn, you’re my wife now.”

 

“I would be your husband,” Aragorn corrected. “If I married you.”

 

“If,” she gasped. “How dare you, we are getting married after I graduate!”

 

Aragorn didn’t say anything, just sighed and dropped the spatula he’d been holding the entire time into the pan of eggs. Arwen huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. They’d had that argument before; Aragorn said she was young and she said she didn’t care, Aragorn said she had her whole life ahead of her and she said he was her whole life, Aragorn said she should focus on her career and she said she could focus just fine with a ring on her hand, et cetera, et cetera.

 

Then her phone buzzed as someone else got a nickname.

 

 **_to_ ** _Fellowship of the Third House on the Left: from_ **_Sam Gamgee:_ **

_(Sam Gamgee changed Merry Brandybuck’s nickname to D-List Shakespeare)_

 

Arwen snorted along with everyone else, the old argument forgotten again.

 

 

_iii_

_Boromir_

 

Boromir was familiar with the _sorry to run out on you like this but i don’t remember your name and i want to go home_ song and dance, but it didn’t make it any less awkward. It was best when whatever girl he’d woken up with was asleep when he snuck out because then he could leave a note and not have to deal with any of it. It was, however, much more difficult when he woke up the morning after Halloween because, somehow, the person he’d followed to bed was not a girl.

 

Now, Boromir was straight. At least, he had been when he’d woken up the day before, but at that moment, he couldn’t give any reason other than sex for why he was in a strange bed in a strange room with a strange man. Boromir tilted his head and decided that this unnamed man looked like Eomer. Not quite, Eomer’s hair was darker. Also, this man had less impressive facial hair. Like, none. Eomer had a wispy goatee, which was much more attractive. Eomer wasn’t attractive to him, of course, just objectively he was fucking hot.

 

Objectively.

 

Boromir pushed the blankets off his legs and carefully slid out of the bed before just as carefully draping them back over the unnamed man’s bare chest, then did a quick scan of the room for his clothes. He could have his sexuality crisis after he was dressed and hopefully out of this room. He found his boxers on the floor and his jeans caught in the door. It seemed that whoever he’d followed home didn’t live in a dorm as Boromir did, since the next room was a living room and a kitchen and there were no signs of roommates. He found his shirt on the floor, his shoes nearby, and dressed quickly. He searched for his socks, then heard the unnamed man snort and snore again, loudly, and gave up, shoving his feet barefoot into his boots.

 

He made his way for the door, then hesitated on whether or not he should leave a note. He glanced back at the bedroom door, then let chivalry get the better of him and grabbed a pen and from the kitchen counter. There was a notepad stuck to the fridge with a short grocery list scribbled on it. Boromir uncapped the pen and held it over the paper, trying to think what to write. Usually, he went with something along the lines of _sorry to run out, like this last night was great, give me a call sometime :)_ but usually he woke up next to a girl.

 

“Something wrong with my grocery list?”

 

Boromir jumped and dropped the pen; the unnamed man had woken up and was now leaning on a counter. Fortunately, he had taken the time to put on pants. Unfortunately, he had woken up.

 

“Uh, no,” Boromir said, then dove for the pen. He could swear that his cheeks were bright red against his stubble. “Uh. I was just, um, just going to leave a – a note…”

 

The man sighed and nodded. “Yeah, I figured. No point in asking if you’ll actually call?”

 

“Well, um…”

 

“Figures,” the man repeated in a mutter.

 

“Look, it’s nothing against you,” Boromir said hastily, “it’s just, I’m… I’m not…”

 

The man raised an eyebrow. “Not a relationship guy? You prefer one-night stands? Afraid of commitment?”

 

“Straight,” Boromir said with a wince.

 

The man blinked at him, then let out a laugh and grinned. “That’s a new one,” he said. “Really lame, but original.”

 

“No, I’m serious. I’m straight.”

 

“You can just say you don’t want to call, mate,” the man said.

 

“I mean, I probably wouldn’t anyway, but I’m actually straight!”

 

“For a straight guy, you’re very good at bottoming then,” the man sniggered. “And at gay sex.”

 

“God,” Boromir groaned, covering his face with his hands. “I don’t know what happened. I don’t even remember your name.”

 

“Haldir,” the man said, and the mirth was slipping from his voice. “Are you… Are you actually serious?”

 

“Yes,” Boromir said.

 

Haldir blinked at him again. “Wow. Um, I guess this was kind of a rude awakening then.”

 

“I am straight,” Boromir said, and he didn’t even know if he was trying to convince himself or Haldir. “I’ve never liked guys.”

 

Well, maybe he had like a few back in high school. And maybe he wasn’t opposed to changing up his usual mix of porn for a few instances of guy on guy action. And perhaps he could remember enjoying himself the night before. Except he was straight.

 

“Listen, man,” Haldir gave a sigh and moved around the counter to touch Boromir’s shoulder, a comforting touch, not wanting. “We all get this moment, I guess you were just a bit of a late bloomer.”

 

“This isn’t a moment, it’s not a realization, I’m straight.”

 

“It’s okay, it’s hard to accept, I get it.”

 

“I am straight!” Boromir insisted.

 

“Maybe not?” Haldir told him with a shrug.

 

“But – but – but –….” Boromir couldn’t find words or look at Haldir or even think.

 

“Do you want to go get coffee or something? Talk this out?”

 

“Um, no,” Boromir muttered. “Sorry, but I’ve got to… I gotta go.”

 

“Sure,” Haldir said. “You got your phone? Keys, wallet?”

 

Boromir checked his pockets and nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.” He started to turn away, then Haldir grabbed his arm.

 

“Wait, hang on,” he said, grabbing a sharpie from a basket on the fridge. He scribbled on Boromir’s hand, a phone number. “Call me if you want to talk, okay, I’ve been where you are and it’s… it’s not always pretty. Be safe, okay?”

 

Boromir nodded and turned away, going for the door. He left, his face set in a frown and his eyes glazed over.

 

Was he straight?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _there's going to be a raise your hand in every chapter. how do y'all like it so far? give me a comment and a kudos, let me know! feel free to leave prompts of more things these guys can raise their hands for_


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Gimli is nicknamed and gives a nickname, Eowyn does not know how to deal with boys, and Sam sees his childhood growing up.

* * *

 

_i_

_Gimli_

  


Gimli had promised Legolas it would never happen again. He had meant it, he wouldn’t ever go near the French bastard again if his life depended on it. Legolas had said he could blame the alcohol, so he did; he’d _have_ to be drunk to consider the blonde oaf of a ~~beauty~~ bastard! He meant bastard.

 

Of course, that didn’t mean he could remember that one day late at night, by himself with no one to keep him company. What it meant was the next time he saw Legolas, he blushed red as his beard.

 

It was three in the morning. Gimli had just cleaned himself up and was re-repressing the memory of Halloween by being useless and lazy on his phone when he saw it. It had been done almost fifteen minutes ago, while he had been indisposed.

 

 **_to_ ** _Fellowship of the Third House on the Left: from_ **_Legolas Greenleaf:_ **

_(Legolas Greenleaf changed Gimli Durinson’s nickname to The Beard)_

 

Gimli squinted suspiciously at his phone. He scrolled up to check previous messages in case Legolas had been mocking him, but the last conversation was from Eowyn and Faramir about why horses were better companions than humans. There had been nothing about Gimli or beards or even a hint at either subject.

 

A new notification appeared; Gimli scrolled back down.

 

_(Legolas Greenleaf changed Boromir Steward’s nickname to Almost Beard)_

 

Gimli snorted at that, but then frowned again, stroking his beard in confusion. What had Legolas thinking of beards and why was he nicknaming people on their state of beard?

 

_(Legolas Greenleaf has changed Eomer Dernhelm’s nickname to Not A Beard)_

 

Gimli stared at his phone for a second, wondering what he ought to do. He knew Legolas could tell that Gimli had read the messages. Was Legolas mocking him by mocking Boromir and Eomer’s level of beard? His thumb hovered over the chat settings, then he clicked on it and scrolled down to Legolas’s name.

 

_(The Beard has changed Legolas’s Greenleaf’s nickname to the braid)_

 

His breath caught in his throat when he saw the typing bubble appear labeled _the braid_ , then it vanished. He hesitated and it appeared again, but vanished just as quickly. Then:

 

 **_to_ ** _Fellowship of the Third House on the Left: from_ **_the braid:_ **

Your lack of capitalization astounds me

 

Gimli let out his breath in a huff and glared at the message. Of course, he would mock his grammar. He typed out a message, backspaced to replace a capital letter with a lowercase one, then sent it and slammed his phone down on the bed.

 

 **_to_ ** _Fellowship of the Third House on the Left: from_ **_The Beard:_ **

fuck off asshat

 

Yes, it was childish, yes it was lame, but he didn’t care. Gimli glared at his phone until it pinged again and picked it up as if it were about to tell him that his dog had died.

 

 **_to_ ** _Fellowship of the Third House on the Left: from_ **_the braid:_ **

I’ll just do that then, I really feel put in my place.

 

 _from_ **_The Beard:_ **

is everything to come out of your mouth an insult, frenchie

 

 _from_ **_the braid:_ **

Is everything to come out of yours so dimwitted

 

 _from_ **_Mom-Friend’s Wife:_ **

 

Gimli gave an involuntary scowl. It was three in the morning, why was Arwen awake?

 

 _from_ **_Mom-Friend’s Wife:_ **

will everything to happen between you two be bickering

 

Gimli blanked the screen on his phone and was about to put it aside when it pinged again.

 

 _from_ **_the braid:_ **

Don’t judge us

It’s not always bickering.

 

Gimli gaped for a full second, then two, then three. He blinked at the message and hardly noticed when Arwen replied. He blanked the screen and shoved his phone under his pillow, then fell back and stared at the ceiling.

 

Well.

 

Fuck.

 

His phone pinged again, but he ignored it and shifted onto his side. Then shifted back to face the ceiling and shoved his hand back down his pants.

 

It may never happen again, but that sure as hell didn’t mean he couldn’t treasure the memory.

 

Gimli woke the next day to the pleasant sound of two voices, one very high-pitched and the other very deep, argumentatively shouting: “I am Groot!” and “I am Batman!”

 

With a groan, Gimli picked up his phone and peered through sleep-gummed eyes at the caller ID, then groaned again, louder this time, and answered the call.

 

_“Gimmers! You’ll never guess what just happened!”_

 

“Kili, it’s before ten on a Saturday,” Gimli growled into the phone. “Whatever it is better be bloody important.”

 

_“Oh, it is, I assure you!”_

 

“Then what the fuck is it?”

 

_“You free today? You’ve got to come up here, this is too big to miss.”_

 

“What’s too big to miss?” Gimli sighed as he clapped a hand over his eyes. Sometimes, he wished he could block Kili’s number.

 

_“Ugh, fine, I’ll tell just tell you, instead of showing you, which would be more awesome.”_

 

“Uggggghhhhh,” Gimli groaned into the phone and sat up in the bed, throwing his blanket away and sliding off the mattress onto his feet. “Fine, I’m coming, but you’re paying to fill up my car when I get there _and_ you’re giving me gas money for the drive back.”

 

_“Fine, so bossy, I’ll feed your truck’s insatiable thirst.”_

 

“I’ll be there in time for supper,” he said, and promptly hung up. He glared at the phone for a second, then shrugged and dropped it onto his bed. At least he’d be able to get some of Uncle Bilbo’s cookies and his mother’s home-cooked food. He paused, wondering if Frodo and Sam would want to come with him for this unexpected trip home. He tugged on pants, a shirt, socks and shoes, then left the room with his wallet, keys, and phone in hand, taking the stairs up to make his way to Frodo’s room. He knocked on the door and was answered by an agitated groan. He opened it and stuck his head in, spotting Frodo and Sam curled up under a mound of blankets on the bed.

 

“I’m headed home for the weekend,” he said, “apparently something incredibly important has happened that Kili can’t just tell me over the phone. You two want to come?”

 

“Home?” Sam said, sitting up a little and squinting at him. Frodo waved a hand in Gimli’s direction and pulled his blanket over his head. Sam prodded Frodo in the shoulder, eliciting another groan from his boyfriend. “You hear that, pet? You want to go see your uncles?”

 

“Has Uncle been baking?” Frodo asked in a raspy voice.

 

“I’ll ask,” Gimli said. “Should I get Merry and Pip?”

 

“Might as well,” Sam said. “I’ll get Frodo up. When do we leave?”

 

“As soon as we’re ready,” he answered, and shut the door again. He started back to the stairs and knocked on Merry’s door, fully aware that Pippin only used his room for storage.

 

“We’re not here!” he heard Pippin call out in a half-asleep shout.

 

“I’m going home for the weekend, you want to come?”

 

The door opened. Pippin stood there, looking at Gimli suspiciously, and Gimli had to cover his eyes with a hand in exasperation, as Pippin was wearing nothing but comical heart-patterned boxers and bunny slippers.

 

“Cookies?” Pippin asked cautiously.

 

Gimli raised a finger. He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts, then dialed Uncle Bilbo.

 

_“Good morning, Gimli! How’s university going?”_

 

“Great, so far, Uncle. How’s Uncle Thorin?”

 

_“Well, he’s rather Uncle Snoring at the moment. Why, did you need to talk to him?”_

 

“No, not really, I was just wondering if you’d done any baking recently.”

 

_“I’ve got a batch of scones in the oven at the moment. Why?”_

 

“Can you make those fancy lemon and raspberry jammie dodgers?” Pippin asked loudly.

 

_“Hello, Pip! I can, though I just made chocolate chip yesterday.”_

“We’ll come,” Pippin declared, then shut the door. Gimli let out a sigh and turned back towards his room.

 

“We’re all driving up for the weekend, Kili said that he’s got something dreadfully important to tell me and it can’t be done over the phone for some reason.”

 

_“Oh, why didn’t you just say so! All of you? Should I make snickerdoodles for Sam?”_

 

“I’m sure he’d love it,” Gimli said, pulling a duffle bag from under his bed. “I’m happy with chocolate chip, unless you could make some of those fudge cookies with macadamia nuts as well?”

 

_“I certainly can! I’ll just have to wake up Thorin and get him to help me, he’ll likely eat half the cookie dough, but it’s never killed him before, when will you be here?”_

 

Gimli checked his watch and then the short window to see what the sky looked like. “Depending on traffic and when Frodo and Sam and the devil’s children get packed, a few hours. Less than five, no more than three.”

 

_“Wonderful! Make sure you give your mother a call before you show up unannounced, Gimli, she might just make one of those pies she keeps promising me the recipes for.”_

 

“Of course, Uncle Bilbo. See you later.”

 

_“Have a safe drive! Bye!”_

 

Gimli hung up and dropped the phone into his back pocket before going about packing his overnight bag.

 

Twenty minutes later, he, Sam, Frodo, and the devil’s children were packed tightly into his truck and headed for the interstate. Pippin and Merry were arguing in the back seat over whether or not Fall Out Boy’s _Young and Menace_ was worth listening to.

 

“... Merry, it’s Fall Out Boy! We can’t abandon them!”

 

“I’ll abandon you if you keep insisting that piece of shit was Fall Out Boy!” Merry threatened.

 

“Enough!” Gimli shouted. “Frodo, you can have the aux cord.”

 

“Noooooo!” Pippin wailed as Merry pretended to faint onto Sam’s shoulder. “We’ll have to listen to fucking 2005 emo ballads and obscure indie shit!”

 

“Should’ve thought about tha’ before you started screaming about _Young and Menace_ ,” Gimli said to them. Frodo plugged the auxiliary cord into his phone, and softly, gently, the first G note rang out in the car.

 

“Noooo!” Pippin half moaned. “Come on, raise your hand if you’d rather not listen to My Chemical Romance!”  


Merry stuck his hand up, but from his expression, it was only in pity for Pippin.

 

_“When I was / A young boy / My father / Took me into the city / To see a marching band.”_

 

“Add _Bad Liar_ to the queue,” Gimli said in a mutter to Frodo, who grinned and winked conspiratorially, before looking up Selena Gomez’s newest single. Gimli leaned back in his chair, and even though My Chemical Romance was still trying to get him to join the Black Parade, he though inexplicably of Legolas. He couldn’t help but wonder what kind of music the blonde oaf of a beauty tended to listen to.

  


_ii_

_Eowyn_

 

Eowyn was only mildly surprised to wake up later to find that around 6a.m., Faramir had changed her nickname in the group chat to _horse princess_ . She deserved it; she’d nicknamed him _grandpa_. Legolas had nicknamed Gimli, Boromir, and her brother – she snorted at the truth of Eomer’s pitiful attempt at a beard – Legolas had been given a nickname himself before bickering with Gimli again, she could still hardly believe the two had hooked up at Halloween a month before, but otherwise nothing had happened while she slept. Eowyn settled in to waste hours on her phone; it was Saturday, she had the right.

 

Then she got a text.

 

 _from_ **_Eomer:_ **

help

 

Eowyn only sighed.

 

 _to_ **_Eomer:_ **

 

what did you do

 

 _from_ **_Eomer:_ **

i think i need a drink

 

 _to_ **_Eomer:_ **

as fond as I am of a good beer, it’s not even noon.

 

 _from_ **_Eomer:_ **

it’s five o’clock somewhere?

 

 _to_ **_Eomer:_ **

what did you do?

 

Eomer didn’t reply immediately. Eowyn heaved another sigh and pushed her blankets away, giving up her warm cocoon for whatever heartache her daft brother had gotten himself into now. It had to be some kind of heartache, otherwise, he wouldn’t be avoiding her question. She shoved her feet into slippers and quietly left her bedroom.

 

The other doors in the hall were closed, but she heard snippets as she passed them on her way to the stairs. Faramir was watching something, and silence came from both Pippin and Legolas’s rooms. She reached the stairs and started up, pausing at the silence ringing through the house. It was odd, but then again, it was before noon on a Saturday.

 

She knocked on Eomer’s door and was answered by a muffled _“come in.”_

 

“What’s driving you to day drinking?” she asked him as she took the chair by his desk. Eomer waved a hand; he was lying on his bed staring up at the ceiling.

 

“Boromir forgot his keys,” said Eomer casually, making Eowyn frown. “I had to let him in, he’d been gone since last night, did you know?”

 

There it was. Eowyn scooted the chair closer to her brother’s bedside and patted his forehead.

 

“There, there,” she said.

 

“I’m not twelve!” Eomer grunted.

 

She patted his forehead again. “Sure, honey.”

 

“Ugh!” Eomer sat up, knocking her hand away, and leaned against the wall as he scowled. “I don’t know why I get crushes so fast.”

 

“It’s November,” Eowyn reminded him. “You’ve known him for four months, almost five.”

 

“Okay, then I don’t know why I get crushes on straight guys so fast,” Eomer corrected himself. “I don’t get why I get crushes on _guys._ ”

 

She patted his knee. “They’re a very attractive lot.”

 

“I prefer girls, though,” Eomer grumbled. Eowyn only sighed again.

 

“Boromir’s quite nice looking?” she tried, which only made her brother grunt. “Come on, he’s got nice.... eyes.”

 

“You’re bad at this,” Eomer said.

 

“I’m bad at _romance_ ,” she corrected. “And feelings.”

 

Her brother snorted. “Clearly,” he said. “How’s it going with you and _grandpa_ , horse princess?”

 

Eowyn’s cheeks colored and she cleared her throat, retracting her hand. “Nothing’s going on,” she said.

 

“At least he’s got nice eyes,” Eomer said mockingly.

 

“Oh, shut up, Not A Beard.”

 

“What?” Eomer asked, frowning. It was Eowyn’s turn to laugh; she pulled out her phone and scrolled up in the conversation to show him where Legolas had given him a nickname.

 

“Rude!” Eomer declared, snatching the phone from her and scrolling. “Oh, he’s got a nickname. Who named him the braid?”

 

“Gimli did,” she said, plucking her phone from his fingers. Eomer took out his own and checked the chat, scrolling up.

 

“Boromir’s beard isn’t almost a beard!” Eomer grumbled, then dropped the phone onto the bed and let his head fall back against the wall. “I’m doomed,” he added.

 

“Yeah, pretty much,” Eowyn said.

 

He opened one eye to glare at her. “You’re not helpful.”

 

“Sorry,” she said.

 

“At least I can go to my death knowing you’re doomed as well,” Eomer sighed. “Can I be Man of Honor when you and Faramir get married?”

 

“Shut up,” she said, laughing as she shoved at his knee. She may have blushed as well. “I’d pick Boromir before I picked you.”

 

“Yeah, but Faramir’s going to want Boromir as his Best Man. If I’m your Man of Honor, then we get to make out after a lot of champagne!”

 

“Keep dreaming,” Eowyn told him. “You’ll have to find some other way of seducing the poor boy.”

 

“Poor boy,” Eomer grumbled. “I’m the poor boy, I’ve developed a hopeless crush.”

 

Eowyn only patted his knee again. Eomer fixed her with a determined pout, his nose wrinkled and his eyebrows nearly joined in the middle.

 

“Ice cream?” she offered. “That place on Main Street? I got paid yesterday.”

 

“I’ll get my shoes,” Eomer grumbled.

 

“I’ll get dressed,” she said, standing up. “Remember that it’s November in England, so don’t wear a sleeveless shirt.”

 

“Will you let that go?” Eomer groaned, “It was one time!”

 

“I will never let it go,” Eowyn said with a grin, “I still have pictures!”

 

“I hate you.”

 

“I’m buying you ice cream.”

 

“Still hate you.”

 

Eowyn rolled her eyes as she left the room; she pulled out her phone and headed for the stairs, unlocking it and –

 

“Oh, sorry!” Faramir exclaimed as she walked right into him; her phone hit the floor with a clatter and she stumbled a step, only to have a pair of hands grip her arms and steady her.

 

“No, my bad,” Eowyn mumbled. Faramir was still a second, then dropped his hands hastily and gave an awkward nod. She bent to pick her phone, then straightened up and brushed it off.

 

“It’s fine?” Faramir asked.

 

“Oh, yeah, don’t worry about it, it’s an android.”

 

Faramir gave a laugh and nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right, right, of course.”

 

Eowyn copied his nod as the awkwardness stretched, then she made to move past him. “I, uh, I’d better go, I’ve got to get presentable and then take my brother to drown his sorrows in chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.”

 

“What’s wrong?” Faramir asked even as he stepped out of her way.

 

“Oh, um, just, things,” Eowyn mumbled. A door opened behind them. She turned around as Eomer exited his room, dressed in jeans and a jumper.

 

“Hey,” he said.

 

“Hi,” Faramir answered.

 

“Hello,” Eowyn said.

 

The three of them stood in silence a second. Then: “I’m going to go get dressed,” Eowyn said.

 

“Yeah, right, ‘course,” Faramir mumbled as she stepped past him.

 

“We’re going for ice cream,” Eomer said. “She’s, uh, just broke up with someone.”

 

Eowyn rolled her eyes as she started down the stairs. Why masculinity had to be so fragile, she had no clue.

 

“Really? She said you were the one who needed ice cream.”

 

“Oh, uh, well, uh…”

 

Eowyn snorted and shut her door. Boys were idiots, that was for sure. She pulled jeans and a jumper of her own from the wardrobe and dug out a pair of shoes from under her bed. She dressed quickly, throwing on a bralette and tugging the overlarge jumper over it. The neck of it hung loosely over her shoulders, exposing a bra strap and a thin scrawl of ink. She brushed her fingers over the line almost absently – _not all who wander are lost_ – before running a comb through her hair and shoving her feet into her shoes. Keys, purse, double check she had her wallet, quarters for parking, all good. She left the room, shutting off the light as she went.

 

When she got back upstairs, Faramir and Eomer hadn’t moved. “Faramir’s going to come with us,” Eomer said brightly.

 

 _Oh, no._ “That’s great!” was what she said. _I’m going to kill him._ “But unless you have some heartache you need to address, you can get your own.”

 

“Oh, doesn’t everyone at some time or other?” Faramir said with half a smile. “But yeah, I get you.”

 

“Let’s go,” Eowyn said, trying to look anywhere but at Faramir. “I’m driving.”

 

“I want to drive!”

 

“It’s my car, Eomer.”

 

“But I –”

 

“It’s my car,” Eowyn repeated, leaning on the door as she gave him a look of incredulity. His shoulders drooped and he huffed. Nodding, she opened the door and stepped out into the sunshine.

 

Eomer took the backseat, leaving her to sit up front with Faramir. Eowyn tried not to look at him as she pulled out of her parking spot and headed for town. She failed, of course; she would glance at him once every few minutes, just to see that he was looking intently at the road ahead of them. She caught Eomer’s eye in the mirror a few times and he kept smirking at her, which only confused her.

 

“Lock your doors and put the windows down a smidge,” Eowyn said as she put the truck in park. Eomer leaned over to lower the window on the other side, then his own, while she lowered the front two windows. Faramir got out first, tossing his seat belt back onto his seat when it didn’t retract and locked the door by hand. Eowyn’s gaze fell on his thin fingers for a second, then she shook herself and got out of the truck.

 

“Ice cream, I scream, we all scream for ice cream!” Eomer chanted as he got out. “Can we get wine after?”

 

“My one duty in life is to prevent you from day drinking,” Eowyn reminded him.

 

“You still haven’t said why you need wine and ice cream,” Faramir said. Eowyn pulled open the door to the little ice cream parlor; a bell rang above them and they joined the queue to order.

 

“Eomer’s heartsick,” Eowyn said immediately.

 

“Hey!” Eomer protested.

 

“You tried to play this off as me dealing with a breakup,” Eowyn said, “as if I’d cry into a bucket of ice cream.”

 

“I know, I know,” Eomer muttered. “My BB gun’s still broken.”

 

“It’s not still broken,” Eowyn insisted.

 

“What’d you do to his BB gun?” Faramir asked. They moved forward as the line shortened.

 

“She was fifteen, okay,” Eomer launched into the story. “Her rotten boyfriend had just dumped her for some other girl, I think it was because she had bigger tits –”

 

“Eomer!” Eowyn gasped as Faramir scowled.

 

“I hate guys like that,” Faramir said. “Looks aren’t everything, and neither are breasts.”

 

“But anyway, he dumped her just as she was getting off the bus from school. She comes stalking into my bedroom, snatches my BB gun, and runs off. I let her, because she looked super pissed and I didn’t want to make her more pissed while she was armed, but then half an hour went by and she hadn’t come back.”

 

They moved a few steps forward again.

 

“I went out to the backyard and find her shooting at beer bottles and jam jars. I ask her what’s wrong, because she usually shoots paper targets, and she says she wanted something she could hear break.”

 

“I didn’t to go find the paper targets, and the recycle bin was full of them anyway, our uncle had just had a barbecue with all the farmhands and a bunch of the locals,” Eowyn corrected.

 

“Nuh-uh, you said you wanted to hear the glass break.”

 

Eowyn rolled her eyes. She reached the freezers and peered into look at them, though she already knew she was getting strawberry with chocolate syrup.

 

“So I asked her what was wrong, blah blah, and eventually she says that Grimmy broke up with her.”

 

“Grima,” Eowyn corrected quietly.

 

“He sounds grim enough,” Faramir said, “if he broke up with you.”

 

Eowyn found that she felt a little too warm in the face and Eomer sniggered. She moved away, looking for what kinds of sherbert they had.

 

“So, she keeps shooting, but then the gun jams, and because she’s mad and emotional, she decides it would be best to just slam the butt against the ground.”

 

“No, you tried to take it from me and then I hit it against the ground,” Eowyn said. An attendant neared them. “Hi, can I get a medium bowl of strawberry with chocolate sauce?”

 

“Fine, maybe I tried to take it from her. But the point is that the gun hit the ground and something went wrong inside it. Still broken today.”

 

“Fascinating,” Faramir said. “I’ll try to never make you upset, Eowyn.”

 

“Can I get you two gentlemen anything?” the attendant asked.

 

Five minutes later, they were holed up in a booth, Eomer sprawled on one side by himself and Faramir with Eowyn on the other bench, sitting at a comfortable distance. Their knees were nearly touching, but Eowyn wasn’t explicitly aware of the mere inch between them. Obviously.

 

They were silent as Eomer stabbed his spoon into his ice cream. His good mood had seemed to have fled, for whatever reason known only to him. Something occurred to Eowyn, however, as she glanced at Faramir for the third time since they’d sat down. Apart from Eomer scowling at nothing, it was almost like she and Faramir were on a date.

 

“Are guys always this stupid?” Eomer asked abruptly.

 

“Yes,” Eowyn and Faramir answered in unison.

 

“Dammit,” Eomer muttered, swinging his legs off to sit up properly and stare moodily at the table. “Dammit.”

 

Eowyn reached across the table to pat his arm. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

  


_iii_

_Sam_

 

“My friends!” Kili shouted as they piled out of the truck. “Welcome to the party! Or rather the prep for one.”

 

“What’s so bloody important that you couldn’t tell me over the phone?” Gimli shouted. Sam clambered into the bed of the truck to fiddle with the lockbox containing their bags as Kili bounded down the front steps of the house towards their truck.

 

“The party,” Kili said, “tomorrow afternoon, after mass because Mother still insists we go when we’re here, is an engagement party.”

 

“Did Tauriel finally give up on waiting for you to ask her and pop the question herself?” Merry asked.

 

Kili scowled. “I’ll have you know we’ve discussed marriage and decided it’s just a piece of paper.”

 

“We’re waiting for me to get my doctorate,” announced Tauriel. Sam looked up and gave her a wave as she exited the house as well.

 

“Love, can you let me have my drama?” Kili asked her with a sigh. She rolled her eyes at him.

 

“But then who’s gotten engaged?” Frodo asked. Sam finally got the padlock open and threw open the lockbox, then tossed a duffle bag over the side of the truck.

 

“Fili did,” Kili said smugly. Sam tossed a duffle bag at him and he caught it with a grunt. “Fuck, who’s bag is this?”

 

“Mine,” Merry said, happy to leave it with Kili, apparently.

 

“How many condoms did you pack?” Kili asked him, incredulously.

 

“Shut up,” Merry said, no longer happy to leave it with Kili, and tugged the bag from him. Sam rolled his eyes and handed the next bag to Gimli.

 

“So, Fili got engaged, and instead of just telling me that you lot were throwing a party for him, you had to lure us down here under complete and total mystery?” Gimli asked his cousin.

 

“Yep!” Kili declared.

 

“Who’s he marrying?” Sam asked. He grabbed the last of the bags and shut the lockbox before jumping out of the truck himself.

 

“Come inside, you’ll see,” Kili said with an air of mystery.

 

Sam followed the others onto the porch, though all the bags were dropped on the porch to be delivered later. Sam assumed he and Frodo would be staying at Frodo’s uncles’ home, Gimli would be staying with his parents, and Pippin and Merry would likely be following him and Frodo to the Baggins-Durinson household. Fortunately, practically the entire Durinson family and all the assorted cousins lived on one street; Sam had always said they should have renamed the street to Durin Lane long ago. This house belonged to Kili and Fili’s parents, Gimli’s parents were next door with Gimli’s Uncle Oin on the other side, Thorin and Bilbo were across the street, Bombur and Bofur lived next to each other a door away from Thorin and Bilbo with their wives and children, Bifur between them, Balin to the right of Fili and Kili’s parents, Dwalin at the end of the lane, and those were only the ones who actually had the last name of Durinson. All of them were cousins in some way until you got to the little oak grove at the bend in the lane, excluding Old Dori and his two much younger brothers, who all lived two doors away from Fili and Kili’s parents, though Sam had heard that the three brothers were somehow distantly related to Dis and Thorin’s great-grandfather through their mother.

 

Sam gave the familiar home a quick glance, already smiling as he remembered his childhood in the area. Frodo had dragged him into Durin Lane when they’d met at school along with Pippin and Merry, and the Durinson’s had simply shrugged and quickly adopted them all into their vast family circles. Gimli, Fili, Kili, and even Ori had taken them under their collective wings as honorary Durinsons (Though Ori was also technically an honorary Durinson to start with). There was still a window pane in the front hall that was missing from a time when Pippin had put his foot through it during a particularly heated game of the Floor Is Lava several years ago.

 

“Fili!” Kili shouted. “They’re here! Come introduce your fiance!”

 

“Already?” Fili appeared from the dining room and gave them all broad smiles. Ori was behind him, grinning widely as he waved a hand at them.

 

“Ori, I thought you were up at Cambridge,” said Gimli with a grunt as he clapped Fili on the shoulder. “Where’s the lovely lady, then, Fee?”

 

Fili gave a snort and pointed at Ori. Ori raised his left hand and wiggled his ring finger, letting the diamond catch the light.

 

“What?” Gimli, Merry, Pippin, Frodo, and Sam all gasped. “Seriously?” asked Gimli.

 

“I figured it was about time to make him a proper Durinson,” Fili said. “Seriously.”

 

“When did this happen!” Sam demanded. He hugged Ori tightly. “Not that we’re surprised, but we’re very surprised!”

 

“We’ve been dating a little less than two years now,” Ori said, “started just after we went up to Cambridge.”  


“I got horribly drunk at a party and Ori drove me back to my dorm house, then stayed to nurse me back to health in the worst hangover I’d ever had,” Fili said, puffing up his chest. “Even though I made several comments on his ass while drunk.”

 

“ _Because_ of all the compliments to my ass,” Ori said, smiling fondly at Fili.

 

“Why’d you never tell us?” Gimli asked as Frodo said: “Can I see the ring?”

 

Fili shrugged while Ori held out his hand; Frodo, Merry, and Pippin leaned in to coo over it. “Never got around to it,” Fili answered with honesty. “We didn’t even get around to telling my parents or his brothers until we came back for the summer.”

 

“I always swore you’d get married before me,” Kili said. “And I was right!”

 

“Only because I’m braver than you,” Fili said.

 

“Braver!” Kili gasped; he promptly turned around and dropped to one knee in front of Tauriel. “Will you marry me, Tauriel, my treasure?”

 

“When I get my doctorate,” Tauriel assured him, patting his head.

 

“See?” Kili said, leaning back to look at his brother. “I’m brave!”  


 

Fili rolled his eyes. “Come in everyone, we’re having a family dinner before the party tomorrow.”

 

“Did Bilbo bring the jammie dodgers?” Pippin asked as they ducked into the dining room.

 

“I certainly did!” came Bilbo’s voice. Frodo gave a squeak and ran for his uncle, nearly knocking him over. Sam followed Frodo as Pippin ran off to find the jammie dodgers, Merry went in search of some ale to pilfer, and Gimli followed Fili and Ori off to the kitchen. Bilbo reached out and ruffled Sam’s hair even as Frodo continued to constrict him in one of his bear hugs.

 

“How are you boys?” Bilbo asked them in a fond voice.

 

“Great, Mr. Bilbo,” Sam said politely.

 

“I give up on you,” Bilbo sighed. “Call me Bilbo, or even Uncle! How many times must I tell you?”

 

“Just once more, Mr. Bilbo,” Sam said with a grin. “How’s Uncle Snoring then?”

 

“Oh, Gimli told you that one, did he?” Bilbo chuckled. “He’s around here somewhere, I expect. I always knew Ori and Fili would get together, do you know? I saw the smiles they would exchange even when they were children!”

 

“Did Uncle Snoring give you such smiles when you two were children, then?” Frodo asked. He was still hugging his uncle.

 

“Me? Hardly!” Bilbo gave a laugh and patted Frodo’s shoulder. “He was much too cool to notice me when we were kids. I was lucky if he gave me the time of day.”

 

Sam gave a smirk as he saw Thorin himself scowl at Bilbo’s comment. Frodo gave a gasp and let go of Bilbo just to throw his arms around Thorin’s waist in another bear hug. Thorin smiled at Frodo and patted his shoulder, before looking at Bilbo.

 

“I’ll have you know I pinned for you all through school,” Thorin said determinedly.

 

“Of course you did, you were still too cool for me.”

 

“I was too stupid for it,” Thorin said, then dropped a kiss onto Bilbo’s curly hair. Bilbo blushed.

 

“Saaam, why aren’t you as cute as Uncle Snoring?” Frodo whined as he let go of his uncle. Sam blushed a matching shade of red to Bilbo.

 

“I, uh, well, they’ve had more practice!”

 

“Sure,” Frodo said, but he was smiling. He kissed Sam’s cheek and latched onto his arm, as he often did in large, crowded spaces.

 

“Uncle Snoring?” Thorin repeated.

 

“Well, you do, dear,” Bilbo assured him. Thorin only huffed.

 

“Hey, Sam!” Pippin practically skidded to a stop at Sam’s left, holding a plate stacked with jammie dodgers. “Did you want a beer?” Sam’s eyes went wide and he tried to subtly point out to Pippin who else was standing there, but the fool of a Took just kept prattling on. “Merry’s convinced Aunt Dis that we’re plenty mature for at least one, but I’m going to tell her you want one anyway and just drink it myself; I’d get one for you too, Frodo, but Auntie Dis is a little less hard to fool than Old Proudfoot’s lot. Oh, hey, Uncle Bilbo, Uncle Snoring.” Pippin abruptly went pale. “Oh, I’ve gone and put my foot in my mouth, haven’t I?”

 

“I’m not going to get all upset if other people drink anymore,” Thorin said stiffly. “I’m not delicate.”

 

“I’m just going to go,” Pippin said. “Er, I’ll say you don’t want one.”

 

Pippin scrambled away. Sam covered his face with a hand.

 

“I’m not delicate,” Thorin repeated in a grumble. Bilbo curled an arm through his and lifted onto his toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

 

“We know, pet,” Bilbo said.

 

“You’d be amazed how much people talk about drinking at university,” Frodo said abruptly. “And every time I say that I don’t drink, everyone always stares at me as if I’d just announced I didn’t like breathing.”

 

“Uni students often prefer beer to water,” Thorin said with a wry smile. “I know I did.”

 

“It’s silly,” Frodo declared, sticking his nose in the air. “The only thing worse is when they start talking about all the sex they’re having and I say that I don’t enjoy it.”

 

Bilbo gave a laugh and shook his head at the two of them. “You’ll find that people tend to get stupider before they get smart,” he said. “Although, I must admit that when I was your age, I would have been just as incredulous as your classmates, especially if I had had Thorin then.”

 

Thorin and Frodo both went red, and while Frodo groaned and berated his uncle for saying such a thing, Thorin had a sudden coughing fit.

 

“What?” Bilbo asked innocently. “Thorin is by far the best lover I’ve ever had!”  


“Uncle!” Frodo whined as Thorin clapped a hand over his eyes. “Sam, come on, they’re being gross.”

 

Bilbo smirked, satisfied, and as Frodo tugged Sam away, he heard Thorin say: “I didn’t do anything!” in an exasperated voice, followed by a soft whisper from Bilbo, after which Thorin gasped.

 

Frodo found the jammie dodgers and then the snickerdoodles, and Sam loaded up a plate of them for the two of them to share, then they found their friends hanging around the punch bowl. Auntie Dis was hanging around not far away, as if on guard to ensure the punch remained kid-safe; or rather, Thorin-safe was more accurate. These sort of parties were always a little awkward when it came to alcohol, Sam half understood Thorin’s irritated grumblings and complaints, but in a family of beer brewers, Thorin’s sobriety was rather like a peanut allergy in a nut farm.

 

“... and then I gave the bloke a firm kick between the legs and he never came round to bother Tauriel again,” Kili finished his story. Sam shook himself, then frowned. He hadn’t been listening.

 

“Someone make him shut up, his domestic bliss is making me gag,” Fili said.

 

“You’re one to talk,” Gimli said with a snort. “You and Ori are practically attached at the hip and you won’t stop making doe eyes at each other.”

 

“Oh, shut up,” Fili said with a blush as Ori dropped his head onto Fili’s shoulder and gazed up at his fiance lovingly. Kili mocked a gag and Fili elbowed his brother.

 

“How about you, Gimmers?” Fili asked. “Anyone I can mock you about?”

 

“Nah,” Gimli said.

 

“Oh, yes,” Pippin laughed. “He’s gone and –”

 

Gimli threw a hand over Pippin’s mouth and said, loudly, “I haven’t been seeing anyone recently, I’ve been trying to focus on my studies you know.”

 

“Well, there’s no one except –” Merry started.

 

Gimli shoved his plate into Sam’s hands the second Merry had opened his mouth and clapped his now empty hand over Merry’s mouth. “No one at all, in fact, I’ve been thinking of quitting dating for the rest of the year, you know, really hit the books hard this year.”

 

“This is highly suspicious,” Fili said.

 

“Frodo,” Kili asked.

 

Gimli gave Frodo and Sam a glare. He didn’t have enough hands, however, as Frodo smiled.

 

“There was one person, at Halloween,” Frodo said.

 

Gimli glared harder. “Well, that was less of a romantic partner and more of a drunken mistake.”

 

“And I’d say they’ve been making eyes at each other over the dinner table every now and then,” Sam added.

 

“Only they’re much too stupid to do anything about it,” Frodo sighed.

 

“If only their families didn’t hate each other so much,” Sam said with a shake of his head.

 

“Poor – Ow!”

 

Gimli had kicked Frodo in the shin. “Poor me, yes, I’m going to die alone and no one will ever love me!”

 

Pippin threw Gimli’s hand off of his mouth. “His name’s –”

 

“John!” Gimli said with a touch of panic in his voice. “And I haven’t seen him since Halloween!”

 

“His name’s not John,” Merry said loudly behind Gimli’s hand. “It’s –”

 

“Joe!” Gimli tried, more panic creeping into his voice.

 

“No, it’s not!” Frodo sang.

 

“Tim!”

 

“His name’s –”

 

“George!”

 

“Nope!”

 

“Fred!”

 

“Now you’re just naming names,” Sam said.

 

“Legolas!” Pippin crowed.

 

“No!” Gimli croaked.

 

Merry threw off Gimli’s hand. “Greenleaf.”

 

“What?” Fili, Kili, Tauriel, and Ori gasped. It was very much an echo of the moment in the foyer not long ago.

 

“I hate you all,” Gimli announced. “Have fun walking back to uni.”

 

“You’re seeing one of the Greenleaf’s?” Kili asked in a hushed voice. “As in the Greenleaf’s who own Dorwinion Vineyards, as in the Greenleaf family who are trying to bankrupt our family’s business, as in the Greenleaf’s who bought the brewery in Dublin from under us? That Greenleaf family?”

 

“Legolas is our roommate!” Pippin said happily.

 

“It was a mistake!” Gimli hissed. “I'm not seeing him, it was one time; you mustn’t tell anyone, we got drunk at a Halloween party and neither of us were thinking straight!”

 

“Clearly, you were thinking gay sex,” Tauriel said with a smirk.

 

“That was terrible,” Kili told his girlfriend as everyone else groaned.

 

“You can’t mention this to anyone,” Gimli said hastily. “Especially not my father.”

 

“I think Uncle Snoring would take it particularly well,” Frodo said. “Of course, the wedding will have to be a dry one, as we won’t want anyone to start fighting over what company should get to provide the booze, but that won’t be so terrible!”

 

“Oh, shut up, you,” Gimli said. “It’s never happening again and that’s the way we like it. I can’t stand him anyway. He’s a pretentious, self-absorbed, prick.”

 

“Bet he’s got a lovely prick, though,” Pippin said, elbowing Gimli. Gimli went bright red.

  


“Yes, he must, he’s got to be six-foot, at least,” Merry said. “Was he gentle with you, or what, you never told us.”

 

“I remember very little, fortunately,” Gimli said, still bright red.

 

“You’re lying, little cousin,” Fili said with a grin. “What, do you think of him when you’re having a wank?”

 

“No!” Gimli spluttered, but this only made them all laugh.

 

“You’re still lying!” Kili gasped, leaning on Fili.

 

“This is precious!” Fili choked, leaning on Ori.

 

“I wish I could take a picture of your face,” Ori chuckled, leaning on Frodo.

 

“Ooh!” Frodo gasped, then whipped out his phone and snapped a photo before Gimli could react. “Sucker!” he said to Gimli, glancing down at his phone.

 

Sam’s phone buzzed in his back pocket. Frodo hissed: “Oh, shit.”

 

“What, what did you do?” Gimli asked, then his own phone pinged, then Merry’s and Pippin’s both dinged. The four of them pulled out their phones; Sam laughed, Merry snorted, Pippin guffawed, and Gimli went pale.

 

 _to_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left_ ** _: from_ **_Frodo Baggins:_ **

_(MULTI-MEDIA ATTACHMENT)_

 

“I meant to send that to you lot,” Frodo said apologetically.

 

A typing bubble appeared in the chat. Gimli went even paler.

 

 _to_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left_ ** _: from_ **_the braid:_ **

What the fuck did you do to him

 

“Aw, he’s concerned about you!” Pippin said.

 

“Let me see!” Fili said, grabbing at Gimli’s phone. Gimli hastily locked his phone and shoved it into his back pocket. “I wanna see!”

 

“Here,” Frodo said, holding his phone so the rest of them could see.

 

“No!” Gimli said in a hoarse voice.

 

“Who’s the braid?” Kili asked.

 

“The devil himself,” Gimli snapped.

 

“Legolas is,” Frodo said. “Gimli gave him that nickname.”

 

“Aww!” Kili gasped, reaching out for the phone. Frodo pulled it back some, and Kili pouted. “I only wanted to reply!”

 

“No!” Gimli gasped. “Do not let either of them at the group chat!”

 

Sam glanced around, then quickly typed out a response to Legolas’s question.

 

 _to_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left_ ** _: from_ **_Sam Gamgee:_ **

We may have told Gimli’s cousins that he’d had sex with a Greenleaf.

 

“Sam!” Gimli gasped. Sam only grinned.

 

 _to_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left_ ** _: from_ **_the braid:_ **

What the fuck.

Is that such a bad thing? I’ve been told I’m quite excellent, certainly that’s not what the fool’s complaining about.

 

“Oh, god,” Gimli hissed as he covered his face in his hands. Kili and Fili were laughing twice as hard now, and even Tauriel and Ori were grinning.

 

“I think I detest him a little bit less now,” Kili said.

 

“I think I might like him!” Fili sniggered.

 

“I don’t share,” Ori said.

 

Fili blushed and Kili’s laughter doubled. “Shush, you,” Fili said, kissing Ori’s cheek.

 

“I’m going to kill you,” Gimli said. “Forget leaving you here, I’m just going to murder you.”

 

“Aw, but then you’d go to prison and who would be there to keep poor Leggy warm at night?” Pippin asked.

 

“God, don’t call him that!” Gimli said with a shudder. “He’s cold at night anyway, I can’t stand him!”

 

“Certainly you were happy to stand him on Halloween,” Merry commented.

 

Gimli gave a groan, then turned on his heel and left. They kept laughing long after he’d gone.

 

Sam checked his phone one more time, letting his laughter still for a moment to read the newest messages.

 

 _to_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left_ ** _: from_ **_The Beard:_ **

my family owns oakenshield ales, frenchie. greenleaf is synonymous with dorwinion, which is synonymous with shit.

 

 _to_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left_ ** _: from_ **_the braid:_ **

It’s a good thing that Oakenshield is what we call idiots then.

 

 _to_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left_ ** _: from_ **_The Beard:_ **

go suck a dick, frenchie.

 

 _to_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left_ ** _: from_ **_the braid:_ **

I would, but you left.

 

“Guys, guys,” Sam said, grabbing Frodo’s arm. “Um. Look.”

 

Frodo peered at his phone for a second, then he gasped and snatched it away. “No!”

 

“I think so?” Sam said.

 

“What?” Merry asked, then he checked his phone. “Oh, shit!”

 

“What?” Pippin asked, leaning in. “Oh! My! God!”

 

“What?” Kili asked.

 

“Yeah, what?”

 

Frodo showed them Sam’s phone.

 

“Oh, shit!” Kili gasped.

 

“I thought they hated each other?” Tauriel asked. “Why is he offering to give Gimli a BJ if he hates him?”

 

“Sometimes that works,” Merry mumbled.

 

“I can’t see Gimli,” Fili said. “Maybe he’s gone to hide in the bathroom?”

 

“I would, if I were him,” Merry said. “I would be locked in a far away bathroom with plenty of tissues.”

 

“Gross,” Frodo said, wrinkling his nose.

 

“You don’t count, you’re ace,” Merry said. “But you agree with me, right Pip?”

 

“Completely,” Pippin said.

 

“This weekend has gotten twice as interesting in the past five minutes,” Kili announced. “I have a mission for you four. Actually, just Merry and Pippin.”

 

“What?” Pippin asked.

 

“We should include Frodo and Sam, though,” Fili said.

 

“But they’ll just push for them to be cute and innocent like them.”

 

“Yeah, but a relationship built on a foundation of sex alone is flimsy,” Fili protested.

 

“Not really,” Merry said. “Works for me and Pip.”

 

“Okay, you’re aro,” Fili said. “Gimli’s not.”

 

“Wait, what’s the mission?” Pippin asked.

 

“Get Gimli and Legolas together,” Kili said.

 

“Really?” Frodo asked.

 

Kili shrugged. “It would cause utter chaos in the family.”

 

“Ooh!” Pippins said. “I like this plan!”

 

“You want us to get Gimli and Legolas together just so that your family will freak out?” Frodo asked them.

 

“Yes?” they said together.

 

“Done,” Frodo said, sticking out his hand. Kili shook it.

 

“Glad to do business with you,” Kili said with a grin.


	4. four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Merry does not re-create the milk fic, Eomer steals mac and cheese while Gimli is distracted by Legolas's fingers, and Pippin suffers a little death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _i'm stuck in a hotel with the fam bc of a conference for the rest of the weekend, i'm doing nothing legitimately useful, the pool is closed, and i have free wifi only bc my dad is a marriott rewards member. super fancy hotels are definitely the worst guys all the stuff you get for free in a regular hotel is never free at fancy hotels. so fanfiction! let me tell you i had to write smut sitting across the room from my lil brother and i did it with a straight face too and minimal awkward squirming_

* * *

 

_i_

_Merry_

 

 

Merry had driven to the store to buy milk. Now, he was in a pickle.

 

_“Yes, pickles. The big kind, not little ones.”_

 

“And what else?” Merry asked incredulously.

 

_“Tampons. And condoms.”_

He heard someone half-choke in the background. Merry rubbed his face with a hand. “Let me get this straight. Tampons, pickles, and condoms.”

 

_“Yep.”_

 

A woman passing the dairy section gave him a look. Merry swore under his breath.

 

“These are all for different people, right?” Merry asked heavily. “And I’m getting paid back?”

 

_“Yep, but the condoms are for us, you used the last one last night. Oh, see if they have any of that strawberry lube, too, that stuff was great.”_

 

_“WE DO NOT NEED TO HEAR THAT, PIPPIN!”_

 

“Tell Sam to stop shouting in my ear,” Merry said with a wince.

 

_“SAM STOP SHOUTING IN HIS EAR!”_

 

“You – Ugh!”

 

_“You okay there, babe?”_

 

Merry spun around and stalked back to the front of the store to find a cart, as he hadn’t gotten one initially, since he had been under the impression that he was just getting milk. “I’m hanging up,” he said.

 

_“Kay, bye.”_

 

Merry hung up and shoved his phone into his back pocket. “Why the fuck does anyone need pickles?” he grumbled. He grabbed a cart from the front and stalked back to the dairy aisle, grabbing a gallon of milk, then found pickles. Condoms and tampons were right next to each other, but the strawberry lube Pippin wanted wasn’t in stock. Merry took the walk of shame up to the checkout, where all the self-checkouts were out of order.

 

“Shit,” Merry muttered under his breath. Milk, pickles, tampons, and condoms. That sounded like a fun Tuesday evening, right, random cashier? He moved towards the only cashier who had an empty lane and tried not to look at anyone as he unloaded his cart.

 

“Found everything?” the cashier asked with a touch of disbelief in his voice.

 

“Yep,” Merry said. No use mentioning the lube. The cashier nodded and scanned the box of condoms with mild distaste written in his grimace. Merry paid cash, which probably looked worse, then walked away as quickly as he could.

 

“Hey, did you want your receipt?”

 

“Nope, just throw it away, thanks.”

 

“Sure, mate.”

 

Merry put the bag on the floor of his car and shook his head at it. “Why did you have to request large pickles?” he asked the air. “God, this just looks like I’m going to recreate the milk fic or something.”

 

His phone rang. He pulled it from his back pocket and swiped his thumb to the right to answer it. “Yes, Pip?” he asked in a sigh.

 

_“Are you still at the store?”_

 

“Nope,” Merry said. “Bye.”

 

_“Wait, can you –”_

 

“Nope. Bye.”

 

_“Can I finish my sentence?”_

 

Merry sighed again and turned the key in the ignition. “I’m not going back into the store.”

 

_“You could go into another store?”_

 

“Nope.”

 

_“Chocolate syrup?”_

 

“Nope.”

 

_“You are heartless.”_

“Bye.”

 

Merry hung up and tossed the phone onto the empty passenger seat and pulled out of his parking space. Twenty minutes later, he parked in front of the third house on the left and got out, the bag of pickles and condoms in hand. He unlocked the door and stepped inside, dropping the bag onto the kitchen counter.

 

“Raise your hand if you’re the ass who wanted pickles,” Merry called. Frodo looked up from the couch, then confusedly raised a hand. “You owe me eight pounds, and I blame you.”

 

“Why?” Frodo said. “I mean, what do you blame me for?”

 

Merry pulled from the bag first the jar of pickles, then the box of condoms. “I went for milk.”

 

Frodo colored. “That is not my fault. Blame the person who wanted the condoms.”

 

“Ooh, you got them!” Pippin called. Merry grudgingly gave the box to his boyfriend, then let him steal a kiss.

 

“You owe me twelve pounds,” Merry said.

 

“How about you top until we run out and I don’t owe you anything?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Gross!” Frodo called in a bored tone.

 

Merry gave Frodo the middle finger and Pippin a fast kiss. Pippin giggled a little, because Pippin always giggled when Merry kissed him like that, and Merry nodded as if everything was up to satisfaction.

 

“So, who gets the tampons? Arwen or Eowyn?”

 

“I use a diva cup,” Eowyn shouted from the living room.

 

“Arwen, got it.”

 

Merry put the milk in the fridge and pulled the box of tampons from the bag, going to deliver it.

 

He knocked on Aragorn’s door twice in rapid succession before opening it; Merry learned the hard way that you had to knock on Aragorn’s door before going in at the beginning of the year.

 

“I come bringing bandages for a bleeding vagina,” Merry said.

 

“Excellent!” Arwen sighed. She was lying on Aragorn’s bed with a heating pad wrapped around her middle. “Put them in the bathroom upstairs?”

 

“Sure. You owe me ten pounds.”

 

“Sure thing, thanks!”

 

“Is this even my room anymore?” he heard Aragorn mutter as he shut the door. He found Pippin in his room – Merry’s room specifically – sitting on the bed with his laptop and dropped down next to him.

 

“Tampons look like sperm,” Merry said.

 

Pippin paused what he was doing and looked up at nothing, his lips pursing and his brow furrowing. “They do,” he said after a minute, then went back to whatever it was on his laptop. Merry leaned over his boyfriend’s keyboard to see what he was doing.

 

“Hey, you’re gonna get me killed!”

 

“No, that Dwarf is going to kill you. Roll!”

 

“Shit!”

 

Pippin died. Merry looked up at him with an expressionless face and Pippin pouted.

 

“I told you to roll,” Merry said.

 

“Well, your head was in the way,” Pippin grumbled.

 

Merry shrugged. He lay back on the bed and yawned, his eyes falling shut.

 

“What’s for dinner, mum?” Merry said.

 

“Ew, don’t call me mum,” Pippin muttered.

 

“Fine, what’s for dinner, honeybear?”

 

Pippin gave him a look. Merry snorted.

 

“Call me that one more time and I will do something horrible to you,” Pippin said, though he wasn’t paying much attention anymore. Merry pulled out his phone and opened tumblr, then draped his legs over Pippin’s knees and settled back against the pillows.

 

“What’s the horrible something going to be?”

 

“Um… One sec.”

 

Merry looked up. “One second, two seconds, three seconds.”

 

Pippin held up a finger, then entered a command. “Aha! Found you, fool!”

 

Merry waited while Pippin recovered his items, scrolling mindlessly through tumblr as he did. He felt very content and comfortable at that moment; doing absolutely nothing with Pippin was almost as fun as sex sometimes.

 

“The horrible thing I will do to you,” Pippin said.

 

“Yeah, like, are you going to force feed me brussel sprouts?”

 

“Ohh, I should do that next time,” Pippin said. Merry scowled. “But, no, it’ll be, like, blue balls or something.”

 

“I hate it when you do that,” Merry groaned. “I don’t like edging!”

 

“Then don’t call me honeybear,” Pippin said firmly. Merry made a face and Pippin giggled at it, then he went back to his game, and Merry went back to tumblr.

 

“Hey, guys,” Gimli said, sticking his head in the room, “I made mac and cheese but I made, like, way too much, do you want some?”

 

“Hell yes!” Pippin shouted. He looked at Merry, raising his eyebrows.

 

“Fine,” Merry sighed, getting up to go fetch the excess mac and cheese. Pippin grinned and he blew a kiss, which Merry caught and pressed to his cheek, smiling a little to himself.

 

_ii_

_Eomer_

 

 

“I smell mac and cheese.”

 

Gimli jumped halfway out of his skin and Eomer burst into laughter. Beside him, Legolas snorted. Gimli turned around and glared at him, clutching his heart.

 

“You scared the shit out of me!” Gimli snapped. “How is someone so big so quiet?”

 

“I was an art thief in another life.”

 

Gimli gaped at him. Eomer sniggered.

 

“So, you made mac and cheese?” Legolas said, pushing past Eomer to stand by the stove. “That is a lot of mac and cheese.”

 

“I made too much,” Gimli grumbled. “Hey, get your fingers out of that!”

 

“My fingers are clean!” Legolas snapped. He stuck his middle finger into the pot and shoved a glob of cheese noodle into his mouth.

 

“I still don’t want them in my dinner!” Gimli said, then went pink. Eomer grabbed two bowls and scooped servings into each while Gimli was distracted by Legolas sucking cheese off his finger, then Legolas popped his finger out of his mouth and gave Gimli the bird. Eomer handed Legolas a bowl over Gimli’s head and Legolas grinned.

 

“Cheers, mate,” Legolas said.

 

“Hey!” Gimli shouted.

 

“Should’ve been guarding it better,” Eomer said, grabbing a spoon and walking towards the living room, where Frodo was watching a movie and eating pickles.

 

“I’ll have you know that I was intending to share some of that, but now you don’t seconds,” Gimli called.

 

“Aw, thanks, babe,” Legolas said mockingly, then he swooped down and kissed the top of Gimli’s head. Gimli went rigid, red, spluttered, then glared at Legolas’s back as the blonde walked away. Or, more likely Eomer figured, he was glaring at Legolas’s arse, since Gimli was looking downwards, and his glare was fading the longer Legolas walked away. Then Legolas turned the corner to the stairs and Gimli shook himself and resumed glaring. Eomer looked away from the short, furious Irishman and towards the TV, when he frowned.

 

“What the fuck is this,” Eomer said to Frodo.

 

“Mockumentary about dragons. That one’s called Smaug, no one likes him.”

 

“I get that,” Eomer said, then tucked into his mac and cheese. “Hey, Gim, this stuff is great, thanks, mate.”

 

“Fuck you,” Gimli called back.

 

“Sure, how’s this Tuesday at 8? I can take you to dinner first?”

 

Gimli gave Eomer the finger and went into the basement. Frodo poked his arm, then held out his fist. Eomer tapped it with his knuckles and resumed eating. The front door opened and Boromir entered, waving to them all. Eomer shoved a spoonful of mac and cheese into his mouth because he was awkward and wanted to ignore Boromir’s leather jacket. It was hard, it made his shoulders look beautiful. Boromir noticed the mac and cheese and made an _ooh random treasure found_ face before snagging some.

 

“Why does no one like Smaug?” Eomer asked Frodo, trying to ignore Boromir harder.

 

“Dude, don’t talk with your mouth full, that’s gross.”

 

Eomer swallowed. “Yes, mum. Why does no one like Smaug?”

 

“Because he’s a little shit,” Frodo said.

 

“Well, so’s Legolas but we still like him.”

 

“I don’t like him!” Gimli shouted from the stairs; Merry was behind him, probably after the mac and cheese.

 

“No, because you’re too busy ogling his ass,” Eomer said. Gimli stuck his nose in the air.

 

“I can appreciate a pert ass without liking the person it belongs to.”

 

“Aw, thanks, babe,” Legolas said as he darted up the stairs past him. Gimli yelped and went red.

 

“OBJECTIVELY SPEAKING!” Gimli shouted after him. “Just objectively!”

 

Boromir choked on his mac and cheese.

 

“No!” Frodo suddenly gasped. “Smaug, you stupid shit, there was a baby dragon in that egg!”

 

“There there,” Eomer said, patting Frodo on the head. Frodo pouted and slumped against Eomer’s side, then grabbed Eomer’s arm and draped it over himself, settling against his side. Eomer only rolled his eyes, used to Frodo randomly cuddling people by then, though it did make eating his mac and cheese a little more difficult.

 

Eowyn came upstairs. “Hey, do I smell mac and cheese?”

 

“Gimli made it,” Eomer said.

 

“Score!” Eowyn hissed, ducking past Boromir and the now squabbling pair of Gimli and Legolas to fetch some. Merry slipped past on the other side with two bowls and a pair of spoons in his mouth; probably for Pippin. It was a little gross, but so was Pippin. Gimli didn’t even seem to notice that his dinner was being consumed by everyone else in the house; he seemed preoccupied, Legolas had dropped his spoon, and instead of getting a new one, had started eating it with his fingers, and while Gimli was still attempting to bicker with him, he kept falling silent and swallowing air.

 

Boromir dropped down on Frodo’s other side. “What’s this?” he asked, pointing to the TV.

 

“A mockumentary about dragons.”

 

“We don’t like Smaug,” Eomer added.

 

“Noted,” Boromir said before sticking a spoonful in his mouth. Eomer found himself distracted by the way he flipped the spoon in his mouth before pulling it slowly out, probably to get all the cheese possible off. Eomer was extremely doomed.

 

_iii_

_Pippin_

 

“Thanks, babe,” Pippin said as Merry wordlessly handed him a bowl of mac and cheese. Merry grunted in response and dropped back onto the bed; Pippin held his bowl far away from his laptop to keep it from spilling while Merry adjusted himself and jostled the mattress. Merry poked his laptop with a toe. Pippin lifted his laptop and Merry draped his legs over Pippin’s lap. He put the laptop down on Merry’s shins and opened Netflix.

 

“What do you want to watch?” Pippin asked, looking over at Merry.

 

His boyfriend shrugged. “Nothing serious.”

 

“So… Doctor Strange?”

 

“That’s serious?”

 

“Benedict Cumberbatch fakes an American accent, how can you take it seriously?”

 

“Point taken,” Merry said. Pippin found the movie, then played it and angled the laptop so Merry could see.

 

Halfway through, Merry fell asleep. Pippin moved his laptop to Merry’s lap, then got off the bed and lay down beside him, angling the laptop again to see it. Merry stirred, then opened his eyes.

 

“What time izzit?” he mumbled, dropping his head onto Pippin’s shoulder.

 

“Half eleven,” Pippin said. Merry nodded and mumbled something, then pressed a kiss to Pippin’s sleeve, then, grumbling, pushed his sleeve up and kissed his now bare shoulder. Pippin let his head fall to rest against Merry’s, his eyes fixed on the screen. Merry found his hand and lifted it, pressing another kiss to the underside of his wrist.

 

“I was having a very lovely dream,” Merry said, his lips brushing Pippin’s wrist. “You were very naked, and we were having a wonderful time.”

 

Pippin closed the laptop and put it on the floor. “Do tell,” he said, grinning at Merry.

 

His boyfriend kissed his wrist again, then drifted his lips up and kissed a finger, before closing his lips around his index finger. “Problem is, you woke me up.”

 

Pippin shifted onto his side and slipped his free arm over Merry’s waist, smiling coyly at him. “What a shame.”

 

“I think you ought to make up for ruining such a nice dream,” Merry said seriously.

 

“Well, I did disturb your sleep,” Pippin said.

 

Merry caught his lips in a kiss, the sort that always managed to make it hard for Pippin to breathe. Merry wormed a hand up Pippin’s shirt and the other down the back of Pippin’s jeans, cupping his ass. Pippin squirmed in his arms, then hooked a leg over Merry’s and squirmed closer. Merry made a noise of approval and squeezed his ass. His boyfriend tightened his grip, then pulled Pippin on top of him; Pippin automatically pressed down to create friction. Merry moved his mouth to Pippin’s neck, going to that one spot that always made Pippin hiss with pleasure. He sucked lightly at the skin before biting gently and swirling his tongue around the area. Pippin’s eyes fluttered. Merry moved the hand up his shirt from his back to his stomach, then his fingers found the button to his jeans.

 

“I didn’t find that strawberry lube,” Merry murmured.

 

“‘S fine,” Pippin mumbled.

 

Merry slipped a hand into his boxers. Pippin tucked his face into Merry’s shoulder and moaned into his skin.

 

“What do you want?”

 

“I don’t care,” Pippin muttered. “ _Ah!_ ”

 

“That’s not helpful, Pip.”

 

“ _Mmm_ ,” Pippin mouthed at Merry’s neck and wrapped his lips around his boyfriend’s earlobe. “I want you to not stop.”

 

“So, you don’t want me to fuck you?”

 

“I do too!”

 

Merry laughed at him before pulling his hand away. Pippin whined a little at the loss of contact, but Merry was pushing at his jeans and he had to sit up to get them off. Merry took the opportunity to shuck his own pants, then lean over the side of the bed to fetch the necessary supplies from the bottom drawer of his nightstand. He caught Pippin in another searing kiss, then pushed him down on the mattress.

 

Pippin soon lost himself in the rhythm and waves, and it left him very happy in its afterglow. Merry fell asleep not long after they’d cleaned themselves up and Pippin lay back beside him. Then he picked up his laptop from the floor; he did want to finish watching Dr. Strange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _somehow there is still smut to be had in the next few chapters. idk how this happened either, gimli and legolas need to figure their shit out and find some more healthy coping mechanisms than dick. leave a kudos and a comment if you liked it, as beyonce would say. and i just wanted to say that if anyone with more art skills would like to draw any of the pictures sent to the group chat, i would love to see legolas with a rainbow mohawk._


	5. five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Boromir gets unexpected cuddles, Legolas tells Gimli he wants him, and Faramir is a sad boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _translations are at the end of the chapter. you'll get it in a minute._

* * *

 

_i_

_Boromir_

 

“Hey, are we allowed to have a dog?”

 

Boromir jumped in his seat and looked up, seeing Eomer standing in front of him, where no one had been two seconds ago.

 

“How the fuck are you so quiet?” he demanded.

 

“I’ve been asked that many times,” Eomer said. “But, original question. Is there some sort of rule about pets?”

 

“Uh… Why are you asking me?”

 

Eomer shrugged. “There’s no one else in the house. It’s Saturday.”

 

Boromir looked around the living room then back at Eomer incredulously. “How did you manage to search the entire house without me noticing?”

 

Eomer pointed to his laptop. “You were busy watching YouTube beauty gurus.”

 

Boromir flushed and shut his laptop with a snap. “They’re funny!”

 

“Chill, mate, I’m not going to judge you. Anyway, pets?”

 

“Uhhh…”

 

Eomer blinked expectantly at him. Boromir shrugged.

 

“I never asked?” he tried.

 

“So no one has ever said no?” Eomer said, raising his eyebrows.

 

“Yes,” Boromir said.

 

“Excellent!” Eomer hissed, pumping a fist. “Brb!”

 

“Wait, where are you going? Eomer?”

 

Boromir glanced back at his laptop, wondering if he ought to get up and follow him, but he was already swaddled in blankets and tucked into the comfiest corner of the couch. While he was still considering, the front door opened again. Boromir looked up, then caught a blur of brown before a large dog leapt onto the couch and started licking his face.

 

“Arod! No, no kisses!”

 

Boromir could only laugh as the dog’s rough tongue scraped over the side of his face. The dog barked in his ear, then clambered over Boromir and settled in his lap; Boromir barely had time to whisk his laptop to safety. Eomer skidded to a stop in front of the couch, his cheeks flushed.

 

“Sorry,” Eomer said. “Arod’s bad at personal space.”

 

Boromir blinked at him. “This is not a problem,” he said. “This is cuddles from a dog. This is the opposite of a problem.”

 

Eomer shrugged and dropped down onto the couch; Arod barked again and squirmed in Boromir’s lap to lick Eomer’s face.

 

“No kisses, Arod!” Eomer giggled, his face split in a wide grin. His eyes lit up as he smiled, flashes of gold and green stirring in his hazel eyes.

 

Boromir caught himself staring and looked away quickly. Unbidden, he thought of a quote from Tyler Oakley; _hazel is_ _how you describe someone’s brown eyes when you’re in love_. He redirected his attention to the dog taking up his lap and rubbed behind Arod’s ears.

 

“Who’s a good boy,” Boromir said, “you’re a good boy, yes you are.”

 

Arod barked and licked his mouth. Boromir blinked, then hastily rubbed his mouth on his sleeve. “Now you’re less of a good boy.” Arod whined and licked his arm. “Okay, fine, you’re a good boy.” Arod barked again and grinned the way dogs grin, his tongue lolling out and his eyes big and beautiful.

 

“So, why do we now have a dog?” Boromir asked Eomer. Eomer was still pink, he noticed, then decided to un-notice it.

 

“Uh, why not?” Eomer said, shrugging.

 

“Fair enough.”

 

Eomer scratched at Arod’s chin, then the dog squirmed again and lay firmly on both of their laps. He let out what seemed to be a contented huff and looked up at Eomer with happy eyes. Eomer smiled back at the dog and dropped a kiss onto his head. “I brought him home with me,” he said, “Arod’s mine and Eowyn’s dog. I was missing him, so I went and stole him from my uncle.”

 

“A worthy endeavor,” Boromir said. “Where’d he get the name Arod?”

 

“I don’t have a clue, I named him when I was four.”

 

Boromir nodded understandingly and rubbed at Arod’s belly. The dog twisted and licked his hand then sprawled back over Eomer’s lap. “You’re a good boy, yes you are.”

 

He heard Eomer chuckle and looked up, smiling still. “What?”

 

“Nothing,” Eomer muttered, then patted Arod’s flank. “He’s definitely a good boy.”

 

It had been a long time since Boromir had a dog sprawling across his lap like this. It was warm and made his chest swell with the sort of happiness only puppy cuddles can give you, and it even looked like Arod was going to fall asleep. He wished humans were as easy to understand as dogs, that humans were as trusting as dogs. He almost dropped his head onto Eomer’s shoulder, but didn’t, because he was cuddling the dog, not Eomer.

 

“Hey, since we are now trapped, are you going to keep watching beauty gurus?”

 

Boromir considered this. Sleepy dog, cute boy, and makeup tutorials on YouTube. He was already reaching for his laptop when he realized just how _gay_ that sounded. Not that gay was bad, just, he was straight. Or at least trying.

 

“Um, nah, I finished that. Uh, we could watch something else?”

 

“Sure,” Eomer said. Boromir pulled his laptop back and opened it up, carefully positioning it on his knees so it wouldn’t disturb Arod or get disturbed by Arod. “Doesn’t matter what.”

 

Good. He could start something with explosions and guns or something, or he could find his conspiracy theory guy and watch stuff about aliens or ghosts. Yes, aliens were perfect.

 

Eomer dropped his head onto Boromir’s shoulder. Boromir’s heart swooped into his throat. Maybe he’d find ghosts. The ghost ones could get spooky. Maybe Eomer would get spooked and cuddle closer. No, no, _aliens_. Not spooking the cute boy to make him want to cuddle. Boromir did not desire to cuddle cute boys, especially not this cute boy. Aliens. Right.

 

Eomer’s head stayed on his shoulder for a long time, in fact, he fell asleep with his head resting on Boromir’s shoulder. Boromir did not dare stir, telling himself he didn’t want to wake Arod, even if it was really because he didn’t want to wake Eomer.

 

It didn’t last for long. About an hour after Boromir realized that Eomer had fallen asleep, the front door opened again and Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin walked in. Frodo spotted the dog lying across Eomer and Boromir’s laps and gasped loudly, which woke Arod, and Arod’s movement woke Eomer. Boromir wanted to snap at Frodo for waking them up, but that would reveal the fact that he had wanted them both to stay sleeping on him, so he said nothing.

 

“Hello, doggo!” Frodo said as Arod licked his face. Eomer had gotten up from the couch and Boromir was left alone in his blanket burrito, which had been perfectly warm before Eomer had joined him or even Arod, but now felt horribly cold.

 

_ii_

_Legolas_

 

“ _Dad, please do not send me a car for my birthday. I have a car. I do not need another car._ ”

 

His father frowned and leaned closer to his webcam. Legolas tried not to facepalm at his father’s expression, grainy and pixilated as it was.

 

“ _Your car is a piece of shit,_ ” his father said patiently, as if Legolas didn’t already know that. “ _You were just complaining about how you had to get the heater fixed?_ ”

 

“ _Yes, but it’s my car_ ,” Legolas said with a heavy sigh. This was why he didn’t like Skyping his dad. This was why he didn’t like talking in general with his dad half the time. He loved his father, but his father could be just as much a piece of shit as his car sometimes. “ _I bought that car, with money I earned, I paid to fix the heater, I put the bobblehead Lady Gaga on the dashboard, it’s_ my _car_.”

 

His father frowned harder. “ _So?_ ”

 

Legolas tried not to groan in frustration; he inhaled, counted to five, then exhaled and nodded at his dad. “ _I don’t need a new car. Thanks for offering, but I’m good, dad._ ”

 

His father shrugged. “ _Have it your way. Other than the car, how’s school going?_ ”

 

Legolas gave a similar shrug to his father’s, an expert roll of the shoulders that looked just as careless as it did elegant. “ _Good so far. I’m enjoying most of my courses, though the law class I have to take is horribly boring._ ”

 

His father nodded sagely and gave a wry smile. “ _Law usually is, son. Will you be coming home for Christmas?_ ”

 

Legolas hesitated. He glanced at the open door of his room and tried to think of the words to answer. He knew his dad wanted him to return for the holidays, but something in Legolas wanted him to stay.

 

Gimli walked past his door and he looked down at his keyboard.

 

“ _I think this year I’d rather stay here,_ ” he said, thinking rapidly of excuses. His maternal grandparents lived in Scotland. There, an excuse. “ _I’d like to visit Mother’s family, you know, it’s been a while._ ”

 

He saw the disappointment in his father’s eyes and almost regretted it, but he couldn’t take the words back now that he’d said them. His father nodded and smiled briefly at him.

 

“ _Perhaps I ought to visit them as well,_ ” his father said and Legolas grinned. “ _It has probably been even longer since I saw them._ ”

 

“ _You hate England,_ ” Legolas said with a laugh.

 

His father shrugged. “ _I can stomach the country for one holiday. I will contact your grandmother, then?_ ”

 

“ _Great!_ ” Legolas said. Now he had to figure out how he was going to split his time between his grandparents and university. He hadn’t actually seen them in a while and neither had his father, so perhaps it was a win-win situation. He could manage that. “ _It’ll be good to see you and them._ ”

 

His father smiled again and leaned away from the camera. “ _It will, I hope. But I must go, I have a meeting soon._ ”

 

“ _Don’t flip any tables,_ ” Legolas warned.

 

His father shut his eyes and appeared to be counting to ten. “ _One time,_ ” he heard his father whisper. _“I flip one table one time._ ”

 

Legolas laughed. “ _Goodbye, dad, love you._ ”

 

“ _I love you, too, son. Goodbye._ ”

 

Legolas ended the call and leaned back on his pillows, lifting his eyes and already wondering what he was going to do about his split desires. Then he noticed the person standing in his doorway.

 

“Gimli!” Legolas said, sitting up straight and smiling despite himself. “I didn’t see you there.”

 

Gimli was staring at him, mouth slightly open. Then he shook himself and shut his mouth with a snap. “You – You were speaking French?”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Legolas said, casually brushing a lock of hair from his face. “My dad is French, remember?”

 

Gimli stared another second. Legolas felt himself blushing under his astonished gaze, but he couldn’t help but smirk a little. Gobsmacked was a good look on Gimli.

 

“Fucking hell,” Gimli muttered, then turned away. Legolas raised an eyebrow, bemused, then shook his head and pushed his laptop away from himself. He was in need of food, and it couldn’t hurt to see Gimli gape a little longer.

 

“Est-ce que cela te surprend?”

 

Gimli whipped around, a hand flying to his heart, then blushed bright red. “Uh…” he said eloquently.

 

Legolas smirked at him. “Cet air surpris te va bien, chéri.”

 

“Quit that, you’re confusing me!” Gimli snapped.

 

Legolas laughed. “J'aime à tu confondre!”

 

“What? Speak English, dammit!”

 

“Ah, mais si je parle en français, tu ne comprendras pas ce que je dis. Je pourrais te dire n’importe quoi,” Legolas said. His heart was beating rapidly in his chest. He leaned closer to the irate Irishman and smiled at him, the truth of his words making it a little less smug and a little sadder. “Je pourrais te dire que je t'aime et tu ne le saurais pas. Je pourrais te dire combien je te veux et tu ne le saurais pas.”

 

Gimli stared for a moment, his mouth hanging open. “I – I have no clue what you just said.”

 

Legolas only smiled, and he wondered if Gimli could see that behind his smug smirk, he was pained. He could speak his heart right then, and Gimli would not know. “Je te veux, Gimli. J'aimerais que tu aies envie de moi, mais je sais que ce n’est pas possible. Je n'ai jamais voulu personne autant que toi.”

 

Gimli only glared at him. “Fine. How about this: Tóg do chuid Fraincise agus cead bliain sé suas do asal!”

 

Legolas blinked. “What?”

 

“See!” Gimli crowed in triumph. “How do you like that, huh?”

 

Legolas scowled and looked down his nose at Gimli, disliking having the tables turned on him. “Un de ces jours, je vais soit te tuer soit t’embrasser.”

 

“What?” Gimli said.

 

Legolas stuck his nose in the air and stalked off. “Baise-lui,” he declared to the air, then walked right into Arwen.

 

“Why are you fucking him?” Arwen asked innocently. Legolas went red and he heard Gimli spluttering behind him.

 

“I am doing no such thing!” Legolas insisted.

 

“Gimli, baisez-lui means fuck him,” Arwen said around Legolas’s shoulder. Legolas hissed and grabbed her shoulders to steer her away, but she slipped out from under him and darted around to stand behind Gimli. “Gimli, quick, save me from the sexually frustrated Frenchman!”

 

“What?” Gimli said. “How am I supposed to do that?”

 

“Duh,” Arwen said. “Baise-lui.”

 

Gimli went red and his eyes went wide. “I – Uh – Uh…”

 

Legolas glared at Arwen. “Continuez à parler et je vais te tuer, Arwen.”

 

“He’s going to kill me, Gimli, quick, seduce him away!”

 

“Je vais tu tuer!” Legolas repeated in a shout, lunging for her, but was stopped halfway into the action. He looked down, and found that Gimli had caught him by the waist. He went pink, then glared. “Je te tuerai aussi, idiot.”

 

“Oui, il te donnera la petite mort!” Arwen sniggered.

 

Gimli went red and immediately released Legolas, backing away rapidly. Apparently, he knew some French. Or at least French euphemisms.

 

“Shut it, you,” Legolas snapped to Arwen.

 

“One second,” she said, then darted into Aragorn’s room. Gimli and Legolas glanced at each other. Gimli shrugged. Legolas heard something fall over, then Aragorn shouted something about being careful, and Arwen ducked back out holding a pocket knife.

 

“Are you arming me?” Legolas asked, confused. Arwen flipped it open, then jabbed at the air between them.

 

“Uh,” Gimli said. “What are you doing?”

 

“I’m trying to cut the sexual tension between you,” she said. Legolas began to grow worried about the amount of blood rushing to Gimli’s face. “Is it working?”

 

“Baise-toi,” Legolas said, then turned around and stomped up the stairs.

 

“Gimli, will you please just fuck him already?” he heard Arwen say in a heavy sigh, followed by a groan of frustration from Gimli. Legolas yanked open the fridge door, muttering all the while under his breath. He threw leftovers from the mac and cheese Gimli had made a few days ago into a bowl and shoved that in the microwave, then leaned against a counter and glared at the tile floor while he waited. He didn’t need Arwen trying to get guys to fuck him, he was perfectly capable of getting laid on his own.

 

Never mind the fact that the last time he’d had sex was Halloween. That was irrelevant. That was not due to any failure on his part, more of a lack of attempting. It wasn’t his fault that any other guy seemed to pale in comparison after the night he’d shared with Gimli. It was hard for anyone to match up to Gimli.

 

Legolas flushed and realized that he’d slipped into thinking about sex with Gimli and tried to steer his thoughts away before he ended up in a worse situation. He needed to move past that, it wouldn’t ever happen again, thanks to his own stupid pride, so what was the point in dwelling on it?

 

The microwave beeped and he took his dinner back down to his room. The corridor had been vacated; Arwen’s voice could be heard, muffled, in Aragorn’s room, and Gimli’s door was shut. Legolas went into his own and shut his own door firmly.

 

He put the bowl down on his nightstand, then flopped onto his bed and glared at the ceiling. His own damn pride was cockblocking him.

 

“Baise-moi,” he muttered under his breath.

 

_iii_

_Faramir_

 

Faramir was not exactly a cat person, but he wasn’t a dog person either. Especially when the dog was the size of a small horse and on his bed of all things.

 

Arod looked up at him with big, soulful eyes and blinked. Faramir let out an exasperated noise and looked around, wondering if he ought to fetch Eomer to come get the giant beast or just try to fit in the one corner left in the bed that the dog hadn’t taken up.

 

“How are you taking up the entire bed anyway?” Faramir asked the dog. “Why are you so big?”

 

Arod whined and settled his head between his paws. Faramir’s shoulders deflated and he scowled a little. “I suppose you want me to cuddle you,” he said. Arod’s ears perked a little. “Oh, you know that word? Great. Where’s Eomer?”

 

“What do you need him for?”

 

Faramir spun around at Eowyn’s voice and flushed. She was in pajamas, her hair wet and hanging in strings. His eyes caught on her shoulder, which was uncovered thanks to her tank top, and flushed at the sight of her tattoo. He hadn’t known she had one. “Oh. Um. The dog. Is on my bed.”

 

Eowyn’s lips split into a grin and she moved into the room to pat Arod’s head. “Yeah, he does that. Anything that has blankets is automatically his bed too.”

 

“He’s taking up the whole bed!”

 

“So? You’ve just got to lay around him,” Eowyn said. Then she slipped behind Arod and draped herself over the small amount of space left. “See?”

 

Faramir shut his mouth hastily. He tried to think of a reply, but his brain was much too occupied by the sight of Eowyn in his bed. Eowyn sat up, one hand rubbing Arod’s bed absently, and frowned at him. “You okay?”

 

“Yes!” Faramir said. “I am fine.”

 

She raised an eyebrow. “You look pale. Something wrong?”

 

“Nothing is wrong,” Faramir mumbled. “Everything is fine.”

 

Eowyn shrugged and slid off the bed; Arod whined at her leaving him, and Faramir didn’t blame him. “Are you feeling well?” she asked, walking over to him. “Have you got a fever?” She pressed a hand to his forehead. Faramir looked up at her hand, then felt his face flush and stepped away from her; he bumped into his desk and stumbled. Eowyn let out a giggle and covered her mouth with a hand. Faramir flushed again and straightened his jumper, for lack of anything else to do with his hands. Well, he could run his hands through Eowyn’s hair. Or brush her cheek with his knuckles. Or pull her into his arms. Or a million other things he would not be doing.

 

Eowyn shook her head at him and looked back to Arod. “Come on boy, you can sleep on my bed.”

 

Arod huffed and clambered off of Faramir’s bed. The dog padded to Eowyn’s side, then followed her out of the room. Faramir tried not to pout as she shut the door to her bedroom, then looked back at his bed.

 

Surely it would smell quite strongly of _eau de dog_ , but maybe… He flopped onto it and buried his nose in the blankets. There it was, a faint hint of floral. Maybe he ought to become a dog person, if it would result in Eowyn randomly lying on his bed.

 

Or maybe he could grow a spine and ask her out. Or a million other things he would never do.

 

The smell of dog was stronger than the smell of Eowyn’s freshly washed hair. Faramir rolled over and scowled at the ceiling, then threw an arm over his eyes and huffed. He wished he was better with girls. Maybe he’d be able to tell if Eowyn liked him back if he was better with girls.

_“Text! You got one! Check it! It’s probably from your mum! Or a pizza company.”_

 

Faram fumbled for his phone, then unlocked it.

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_Not A Beard:_ **

I’M GOING TO A KEG PARTY I’M BRINGING PEOPLE WE LEAVE IN HALF AN HOUR

 

Faramir rolled his eyes, then paused to consider it. Keg parties could be fun. They could be distracting. Maybe he’d find someone who seemed more interested than Eowyn.

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_The Beard:_ **

count me in

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_the braid:_ **

Count me out

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_Almost Beard:_ **

FARAMIR AND I ARE COMING

 

Faramir groaned at his brother’s message. Why? Just once, could he not volunteer Faramir without asking?

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_grandpa:_ **

Fine I’ll come

 

That was how he found himself packed into the backseat of Eomer’s car half an hour later, having been forcibly shoved into a dress shirt he hadn’t even _known_ that he had owned by Boromir and practically threatened with violence by Gimli if he did not let him comb and braid his hair. Faramir had thought when he let his hair grow to shoulder length that he would look ruggedly handsome, but, apparently, he just looked homeless.

 

“Right, everyone lock the doors,” Eomer said when he parked in front of one of the many frat houses. “Manually, they don’t do it otherwise.”

 

Inside, Faramir went in search of beer right away. His brother vanished into the crowd and Eomer and Gimli wandered away together in another direction, greeting someone they both knew.

 

Faramir found the beer, finished one, then found a friend from one of his English classes hanging around the coolers.

 

“Faramir!” Haldir said with a broad grin. “Fancy seeing you here, mate. Thought you weren’t the party type?”

 

“My brother dragged me,” Faramir said with a wry grin. Haldir handed him a beer, which Faramir took graciously.

 

“It’s that new stuff from Dorwinion,” Haldir said. “Hope you don’t mind it.”

 

Faramir snorted, having told Haldir about his friendship with the Durinson family and by extension, loyalty to Oakenshield Ales. “As long as I say it tastes like shit in front of Gimli, it doesn’t matter.”

 

“There’s the spirit!” Haldir said with a laugh. “Anyway, tell me how it’s going with that lovely blonde you keep mooning over?”

 

Faramir half choked and coughed, spluttering for a second. Haldir thumped him on the back, still grinning. “I, well, uh, there’s nothing to tell,” he said, his shoulders drooping. “I’m pretty sure she’s not into me.”

 

“Perfect! There’s this guy in my maths class –”

 

“I am not letting you set me up with anyone,” Faramir interrupted. “I do not let people set me up with dates anymore.”

 

“Ooh, fun story?”

 

“No.”

 

Haldir pouted, but spotted someone it seemed, for he smiled and waved. Faramir turned, seeing Boromir turning his back on them abruptly. Haldir pouted again. Faramir frowned at his friend.

 

“You know my brother?”

 

Haldir froze, his beer halfway to his lips. “What?” he said.

 

“Boromir, you just waved to him.”

 

Haldir gaped. “ _That_ ’s your brother?” he asked with horror lacing his voice.

 

“Who’s his brother?” said a new voice. Faramir looked up to see another of their classmates approaching; everyone called him Treebeard because of his long beard and, well, Faramir wasn’t positive where the _tree_ part had come from, but Faramir was pretty sure his surname was Fangorn. He was a talented enough writer, but he always managed to leave Faramir confused about something.

 

“Boromir,” Faramir said. “What’s the matter?”

 

“Wait, Boromir?” Treebeard said, then pointed a finger at Haldir. “Don’t tell me…”

 

“What?” Faramir asked, frowning.

 

“I am not at liberty to say,” Haldir muttered.

 

Faramir scowled. “What’s my brother done?”

 

“Nothing!” Haldir said, much too quickly. “I didn’t know he was your brother.”

 

Faramir raised one eyebrow, but gave in, resigning to the fact that he’d have to figure whatever it was out himself. Treebeard shook his head, his beard waving as he did, and patted Haldir on the shoulder. “Fools,” he said, then walked away. Faramir stared after him, as confused as he usually was after interacting with the strange poet.

 

“Faramir! What the fuck are you drinking!”

 

Faramir hastily shoved the beer in his hands at Haldir, answering Gimli. “It’s disgusting, I tell you, worst stuff I’ve ever drunk in my life.”

 

Gimli looked unimpressed. Behind him, Eomer sniggered. Then Gimli sighed and he plucked the bottle from Haldir’s fingers and looked over it. “Don’t pretend for my sake,” he said, glancing over it. Then he took a gulp and scowled. “Fuck, it’s legitimately good.”

 

“That right there is character development,” Faramir said to Haldir. “Forget anything Professor Saruman says, that’s legit character development.”

 

“Oh, shut it,” Gimli muttered, shoving the bottle back into his hands. “If anyone ever asks, I’ll deny it.”

 

“Damn, I should have gotten that on video,” Eomer grumbled behind him. Gimli scowled and raised an arm, jabbing his middle finger up at Eomer, who only laughed. Eomer moved around Gimli to fling an arm around Faramir’s shoulders, grinning at the, as per usual, irate Irishman. “Lucky for you, my phone’s low on storage.”

 

“Lucky for you I’m above starting brawls in public,” Gimli said haughtily. “Here, blondie, do you have any beer that _isn’t_ Dorwinion?”

 

Haldir opened the cooler beside him and rummaged in it. “Here’s a pale ale from Oakenshield.”

 

“Ah, Arkenstone!” Gimli said with a grin. “Hand it over, lad.”

 

Haldir did, and Gimli twisted the lid off with a bare hand. Faramir would be impressed if Gimli wasn’t one of his oldest friends and he’d seen him do it a thousand times. “Cheers,” he said, taking a swig. Faramir sipped from his own beer, before it was stolen by Eomer.

 

“How do you guys know I don’t have a cold or something?” he grumbled to Eomer.

 

“We live with you, we’d catch it anyway,” Eomer said, then took a gulp from Faramir’s beer. Haldir handed him a new one with a look of sympathy. “Good stuff,” he said. Gimli scowled again.

 

“French bastards,” Gimli grunted. “Bloody impertinent, stickin’ their noses int’ a business what doesnae belong to ‘em.”

 

“Gimli, Oakenshield Ale is still the beer of choice for all of Ireland and Scotland,” Faramir assured his friend.

 

“At least it’s not Samuel Adams,” Haldir said. Gimli snorted, but did not smile. He continued to glower at his beer. “Cheer up, mate,” added Haldir, patting Gimli on the back.

 

“Leave me to sulk in peace,” Gimli grumbled. “Bloody French bastards,” he muttered as he turned and walked away. Haldir frowned.

 

“Was it something I said?” he asked.

 

Faramir laughed and shook his head. “One of our housemates’ father owns Dorwinion,” he explained, “and Gimli fancies the pants off of him.”

 

“Your housemate’s father?” Haldir said, frowning.

 

“God, no!” Faramir said, gaping at him. “No, he fancies our housemate!”

 

“That makes so much more sense,” Haldir said. He went to lean on a cooler and misjudged the distance; he stumbled and righted himself, flushing.

 

“Maybe you’ve had enough, mate,” Faramir said to him.

 

“I can never have enough,” Haldir said with a laugh. “It’s not a Sunday evening if I’m not pissed.”

 

Faramir rolled his eyes. Eomer, still leaning on him, drained his beer and lifted his arm. “Wait, what’s your name?” Eomer said.

 

“Haldir,” Faramir answered him. “In my English class with Saruman.”

 

“Yeah, you hate him,” Eomer said.

 

“We hate him,” Haldir echoed. “ _Raise your hand if you have something to say!_ ” he barked out in an excellent imitation. “ _Do not interrupt me, it’s highly disrespectful and indicative of your great foolishness!_ Pretentious git who thinks he deserves to be treated like the new Tolkien or something.”

 

“Nothing can surpass the Silmarillion,” Faramir said.

 

“Nothing,” Haldir said. They shared a moment of silence in honor of the tragic story of Middle Earth. Eomer frowned.

 

“I’ve never read it,” he said.

 

“You’re not my friend anymore,” Faramir replied.

 

“Fine,” Eomer said with a shrug. “If I’m not your friend, then can we go dance? I’m already buzzed and have no inhibitions.”

 

“Are you making a pass at me?” Faramir asked with a snort.

 

“Not like either of us have the person we want,” Eomer said. Faramir looked at him, a little confused, but after a second realized. The alcohol in Eomer’s blood had loosed more than his tongue; there was a sad pining in his eyes for someone, and that someone was most definitely not him. “Live a little, Stewards.”

 

“Yeah, live a little!” Haldir chuckled, waving his beer at them. “Go dance, I’ll tell whoever’s got the music to put on something fun.”

 

“Come on!” Eomer said, grabbing Faramir’s hand. Faramir let him pull him to the makeshift dance floor, then let him steal his beer again and pull him close. The song changed, some upbeat track that was quickly making innuendos, and Faramir let Eomer kiss him. It was nice, in the moment, though he couldn’t help but think that Eomer’s fail of a beard was too scratchy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ha! got you with_ ii _didn't i? but yeah yeah here are translations!_
> 
>  
> 
> __
> 
> in order of appearance:  
>  _Est-ce que cela te surprend?:_ Does it surprise you?  
>  _Cet air surpris te va bien, chéri:_ This surprised look suits you, dear  
>  _J'aime à tu confondre!:_ I like to confuse you!  
>  _Ah, mais si je parle en français, tu ne comprendras pas ce que je dis. Je pourrais te dire n’importe quoi:_ Ah, But if I speak in French, you will not understand what I am saying. I could tell you anything.  
>  _Je pourrais te dire que je t'aime et tu ne le saurais pas. Je pourrais te dire combien je te veux et tu ne le saurais pas_ : I could tell you I love you and you would not know. I could tell you how much I want you and you would not know.  
>  _Je te veux, Gimli. J'aimerais que tu aies envie de moi, mais je sais que ce n’est pas possible. Je n'ai jamais voulu personne autant que toi:_ I want you, Gimli. I wish you wanted me, but I know it is not possible. I never wanted anyone as much as you.  
>  _Tóg do chuid Fraincise agus cead bliain sé suas do asal!:_ Take your French and shove it up your ass! (Irish)  
>  _Un de ces jours, je vais soit te tuer soit t’embrasser.:_ One of these days, I will either kill you or kiss you  
>  _Baise-lui:_ Fuck him  
>  _Continuez à parler et je vais te tuer, Arwen:_ Keep talking and I'll kill you, Arwen  
>  _Je te tuerai aussi, idiot:_ I'll kill you too, idiot/fool  
>  _Oui, il te donnera la petite mort!:_ Yes, he will give you the little death!  
>  _Baise-toi:_ Fuck you  
>  _Baise-moi:_ Fuck me
> 
>  
> 
> _oh. my. god. that was a_ lot _of translating. i'm a novice at french and i know nothing of irish, but i am fluent at google translate, as dr. strange would say, so any mistakes in my grammer, etc, blame google. and for those of you who do not know,_ la petite mort _is a euphemism and refers specifically, according to google, as "the sensation of orgasm as likened to death." i'm gonna go now. i'll see you again in a few days. there will be more french._  
>  _edit: thank you to deanandcassbutt and paradis_artificiels for leaving corrections in the comments!_


	6. six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Gimli is too drunk to care about anything but those lips, Frodo utilizes an unconventional method to relieve stress, and Boromir is the outsider for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _i am back hello or should i say bonjour yes, like i said, there is more french to come, and while it's simpler, it is so much_ worse _. i'm going away for a week starting monday, but i have another chapter i want to write and post before then, so you'll have it to keep you company. please enjoy this one in the meantime!_

* * *

 

_i_

_Gimli_

 

He was very drunk. He’d left the party almost an hour ago, and it had taken him just as long to walk back home. Boromir he’d seen last looking unhappy, Eomer and Faramir had taken up on the dance floor despite the both of them looking unsatisfied with each other and like they knew it, and Gimli had a sort of confused want in his chest that wouldn’t leave him.

 

That morning, he’d woken up after another dream about Legolas, gone about his day with surliness, and never thought that he’d realize how damn sexy the French language sounded. Part of him grumbled about how he shouldn’t have ever thought about _French_ being sexy, but then he heard those words spilling from Legolas’s lips and it had been all he could do to stop him from singing that lyrical language with his own tongue, and he did _not_ mean Gaelic.

 

It took three tries to successfully unlock the door; he kept stabbing the wood with his key, and Gimli had always been better at cricket than fencing. When he got inside, he tripped over a pair of shoes, stumbled into the wall, then clung to it while his head stopped spinning. He had tried, after Legolas walked away, to translate what he had said with Google, but he hadn’t been able to remember more than a few words, and even then, pronunciation in French left half the letters unsaid, so he hadn’t been able to spell any of what he had remembered. In that moment, it was his greatest regret that he had not studied French ever in school, even to understand half of what Legolas had said.

 

It was probably mocking, but Gimli would have still liked to know.

 

He pushed himself off the wall and staggered into the kitchen, reaching for the counter when he found the room still a little wobbly. The kitchen was empty, as was the living room, and the microwave seemed to look down its nose at him as the display flashed _2:07_. Gimli made his way to the stairs, gripping the handrail firmly since he did not quite trust his feet, then at the hallway paused.

 

To the right was his bedroom. To the left was Legolas’s. He turned left.

 

Gimli rapped his knuckles on Legolas’s door. It took a second, then he heard what sounded like blankets shifting. He knocked again, and then a mattress creaked. There were light footsteps, and the door opened. Legolas blinked at him. He wore an eye mask on his forehead, his long blonde hair was falling from its braid, his pajamas – plaid pants and a loose sleeveless shirt – were rumpled.

 

Gimli very much wanted to grab him by the shoulders and snog the living daylights out of him, but his mother didn’t raise him to kiss people without their permission.

 

“Wha’ diddya say to me?” he said, surprising even himself with his thickened and slurred accent. “In French, earlier. Wha’ did ya say?”

 

“What?” Legolas muttered.

 

“What did ya say?” Gimli repeated, demanding.

 

Legolas’s cheeks colored, barely perceptible in the darkness. “I said – I, uh… I don’t think you want to know.”

 

“I’m askin’, aren’t I?”

 

Legolas still hesitated. He raised a hand and began chewing on a nail; Gimli’s eyes jerked to his finger in his mouth. He felt almost like the wind had been knocked from him. Those pale lips, plump and pink, he could spend hours watching them move.

 

“Are you drunk?” Legolas asked, the finger lingering on his chin.

 

“Very,” Gimli said, grinning. “Otherwise I’d not admit that it was fucken sexy, your birdsong language.”

 

Legolas flushed again and he dropped his hand from his mouth. “Oh!”

 

“Swear on my mam,” Gimli said, his eyes focused on Legolas’s mouth. “Don’t stop biting your nail, it’s sexy too.”

 

Legolas’s flush endured; Gimli thought it was quite becoming of him, and decided he ought to stay that shade of rosy pink. “Ya keep breakin’ my brain, ya know, every time one of your damn fingers ends up in your mouth, it’s like you’re _tryin’_ t’ get me hard.” Legolas’s eyes went very wide and he gaped at Gimli, who didn’t care at all, thanks to his belly full of beer. “‘S the sexiest fucken thing I’ve ever seen, ya know, your mouth. I’d love t’ see wha' those lips look like wrapped ‘round sommat else.”

 

“Gimli,” Legolas breathed.

 

“But I still think you’re a twat,” Gimli said hastily. “A bloody French bastard, arrogant and insufferable, but you’ve got the mos’ beauteous lips I’ve laid eyes on or ever kissed, and it suits your arrogant personality.”

 

Legolas blinked at him. “I said I wanted you.”

 

Gimli blinked back. “What?”

 

“Je te veux,” Legolas said, nay, he _exhaled_ , and Gimli’s heart got lodged in his throat while something else got a rush of blood. “It means ‘I want you.’”

 

“Fuck,” Gimli muttered.

 

“Je veux que tu me baises,” Legolas murmured, his eyes dark and distant, his voice barely audible. Gimli recognized one of those words.

 

“Bay-ez loo-ee meant ‘fuck him,’ right?” Gimli muttered, probably butchering the words, little though he cared.

 

“I just said ‘I want you to fuck me,’” Legolas said breathily. “Oui.”

 

Gimli stepped into the room and Legolas shut the door firmly. “I’ll do that, then.”

 

“Oh, dieu merci,” Legolas muttered, then grabbed Gimli in a fierce kiss. Gimli growled at the instant tongue and set about pulling his braid loose, wanting to run his fingers through his hair like silk. He backed Legolas up until he hit the door, then fumbled with the door handle until he found the switch to lock it, glad that the lock on this door was younger than his own bedroom. Legolas’s lips tore at his, his hands buried in his hair, then one slid down the back of his shirt and the other landed on his cheek. Gimli put his hands at Legolas’s waist and lifted him up. Legolas seemed to get the hint, for a second later he wrapped his legs around Gimli’s hips and clung to him. Gimli growled and pulled Legolas closer, delighting in the stiffness Legolas was already suffering. He began kissing down his neck, then Legolas gasped.

 

“J'ai besoin de toi en moi, Gimli,” he breathed, making his heart do a swoop in his chest and the burning want in his belly grow hotter. “J'ai besoin de toi a faîtes-moi crier, Gimli, s’il te plait, s’il te plait!”

 

“I’ve not a clue what you’re fucken saying but if you’re saying you want me to fuck you long and hard, that’s wha’ I plan to do, frenchie.”

 

“ _Mmm_ , Gimli, mon cher, baise-moi maintenant, s’il te plait!”

 

With a growl, Gimli lifted Legolas’s full weight into his arms and off of the door. Legolas began sucking at a spot on his neck and Gimli's arms slipped a little, and gravity took Legolas's weight to make him slide down his torso some, and that most certainly did not help. He staggered to Legolas’s bed, then dumped him unceremoniously, but Legolas only pulled him down with him and kissed him again with heat. Gimli pulled at Legolas’s shirt, belatedly thinking that he should have undressed him while they were still standing, and Legolas lifted his lips to rip his shirt off. Gimli bent and attached his mouth to a nipple, remembering the delicious noises Legolas had made the last time he had done that.

 

“ _Aah_ , Gimli, s’il te plait!”

 

“Is tha’ like see vu play?” Gimli said. “Please?”

 

“Oui, mais c’est – but that’s formal, I mean.”

 

“Keep talkin’ in French, ‘s hot,” Gimli murmured.

 

“Oui, mon cher, tout ce que tu veux.”

 

He’d have half the language in his head if they kept this up. Gimli pulled off his own shirt and Legolas immediately wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling them both down further. Gimli kissed back up his neck, loving every noise, every gasp, every moan that Legolas made.

 

“Should we talk about this?” Legolas muttered abruptly. Gimli almost didn’t realize he’d switched back to English.

 

“‘Bout what?”

 

“I don’t want to date you.”

 

“Tha’s fine with me,” Gimli said. He caught Legolas’s lips in a kiss, then carefully pressed his hips into Legolas’s; Legolas made a sinful noise into Gimli’s mouth and Gimli growled at it. “I still think you’re an arrogant prick.”

 

“I think you’re an idiot,” Legolas hissed back. Gimli began sucking a hickey into Legolas’s neck and another moan dripped from his perfect, kiss-reddened lips: “Gimli, _s’il te plait_ , baise-moi déjà!”

 

“I’ll do that, frenchie,” Gimli murmured in his ear, kissing it and letting his hands fall on Legolas’s hips. “I’ll do it whenever you want me to.”

 

“Oh, dieu, quand tu veux, whenever you want to.”

 

“It seems we are in agreement, lómhara,” Gimli murmured.

 

The word slipped out without him meaning it. _Lómhara_ was not a word one cried out during sex. It was not an erotic word or even one usually used to address someone one merely liked. _Lómhara_ was something one called the person they loved. But Legolas didn’t know what it meant, and as long as Gimli didn’t say it again, it wouldn’t matter.

 

“I have condoms,” Legolas mumbled. “And lube. It’s in a box under the bed, vite, Gimli!”

 

Gimli reached blindly, trying to keep his mouth fixed on Legolas’s neck, but couldn’t reach the floor. With a growl, he lifted his mouth and leaned over the edge of the bed to grope for the box Legolas needed. He found it and dug around in it for a second, coming up with rubber gloves, condoms, and a slim bottle of lubricant.

 

“What d’ya need gloves for?” Gimli muttered.

 

“I like not to get my hand nasty when I’m fingering myself, thank you very much,” Legolas said. Gimli’s face went slack at the thought, then he had to remind himself that he would be doing that himself soon. He grinned and kissed Legolas again, then fumbled at Legolas’s waistband.

 

“Hurry up,” Legolas whispered and Gimli pulled back to give him a glare. Legolas huffed at the loss of his mouth and returned the glare. “I’m not getting any younger,” he said.

 

Gimli sat up and yanked Legolas’s pajamas and pants away from his hips in a swift, fluid movement. “Satisfied?” he asked.

 

“Not yet, you’ve hardly touched me,” Legolas said, reaching for him again. Gimli dodged his hands and stripped of his own jeans and boxers, then let Legolas tug him back down to claim his mouth. His hand groped blindly, then Legolas gasped as it found its target, his eyes fluttering shut.

 

“I still want t’ see those lips wrapped around somethin’ other than your finger,” Gimli murmured. Legolas shivered under him and he stilled his hand.

 

“Not now, I want you in me,” Legolas all but whined. “Another time.”

 

Gimli grinned. “Is that a promise, frenchie?”

 

“Oui, Gimli,” Legolas murmured. Gimli reached for the rubber glove.

 

Legolas kept speaking French, even as his words slurred and became too quick for Gimli to hear them, until he all he could say was _Gimli, plus vite, s’il te plait, Gimli!_ Every time his name dripped from those beautiful lips, Gimli shivered and quickened his pace, and every time he did, Legolas would hiss his name again, _begging_ him for more, until finally both of them could stand it no more. Legolas exhaled a stream of words, half of them his name, and _lómhara_ slipped from Gimli’s lips again.

 

Gimli tied off the condom and dropped it into the waste bin. Legolas lay sprawled on his pillows, his hair a mess and his cheeks flushed, looking at Gimli with a pleased smile.

 

“Now I’m satisfied,” Legolas said.

 

“Good,” Gimli grunted. He stood there awkwardly for a second, wondering if this was the point that he went back to his room and they ignored each other for the next few days until one of them wanted another fuck. Legolas hadn’t bothered putting his clothes back on, though Gimli had donned his boxers and jeans, and he was still on display. Gimli walked back over to him, not even attempting to hide where his gaze lay.

 

“Next time,” Legolas murmured, “you’ll see my lips wrapped around something other than my finger.”

 

Gimli swallowed hard and tore his gaze away. Legolas smirked at him, then drew his blankets back over his lithe body, his eyes shutting.

 

“Goodnight, frenchie,” Gimli murmured, turning away.

 

“Beaux rêves, Gimli,” Legolas whispered. He was already falling asleep.

 

Gimli grabbed his shirt from the floor and left the room. At the same time, Aragorn’s door opened and Arwen stepped out, rubbing at her eyes. Gimli froze; Arwen frowned at him, at his shirt in his hands, at the door he’d just shut. Then she grinned and turned around, heading for the bathroom.

 

“About time,” she whispered loudly.

 

Gimli shook his head and hastened into his own room.

 

_ii_

_Frodo_

 

When Frodo left his last class on Monday, he felt like someone had stuck his finger in an electrical socket without his noticing; his every hair was on end and his pulse was going about twenty beats over the normal range. He unlocked the front door and stepped into the kitchen, then took a deep breath, and screamed.

 

Boromir’s door flew open and he nearly fell out of the room; Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli sprinted up the stairs; Eomer darted out of the bathroom with his hair in a towel.

 

“Where’s the fire?!” Aragorn spluttered, looking around with fright written over his face. Gimli stopped halfway into the kitchen and abruptly laughed as he saw the scowl on Frodo’s face. Aragorn frowned at him, obviously confused, then Boromir started to laugh as well. “What’s the matter with you?”

 

Boromir pushed past Aragorn and wrapped his arms around Frodo’s shoulders. “He does that sometimes,” he said. “Means he needs hugs.”

 

“Where’s Sam?” Frodo asked belligerently. Aragorn was now looking annoyed as well as confused.

 

“Still in class, I think,” Gimli answered. “Chocolate or coffee?”

 

“Decaf,” Frodo muttered. Boromir patted his hair and Frodo curled into his embrace. If he couldn’t cuddle Sam, he’d cuddle Boromir.

 

Gimli set about making the coffee, while Boromir continued to pet Frodo’s hair.

 

“Okay,” Eomer said slowly, “raise your hand if you’re confused.”

 

Legolas and Aragorn stuck their hands into the air promptly. Gimli snorted at them.

 

“Oh, good, I’m not alone,” Eomer sighed.

 

“I don’t understand,” Legolas said. “Do you often scream for no reason?”

 

“Not for no reason,” Frodo mumbled, his voice muffled by Boromir’s shirt. “Had a bad day.”

 

“Screaming is cathartic,” Boromir said. He sounded much too amused for Frodo’s comfort.

 

“Cathartic?” Aragorn repeated, blinking slowly. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

 

“You should try it sometime,” Frodo said. Aragorn raised his eyebrows, then glanced at Legolas, who shrugged.

 

“Here, the coffee’s brewing, go and sit on the couch and you can relax,” Gimli said, touching Frodo’s shoulder. “Sam’ll be home in about half an hour, I think, but in the meantime, looks like Boromir’s a fine substitute.”

 

“He’s all muscley,” Frodo mumbled, but it was a weak complaint. Boromir laughed at him and patted his hair again.

 

“Be glad for it, otherwise I couldn’t do this,” Boromir said. Frodo frowned, then yelped as Boromir picked him up by the waist and carried him bodily to the couch. He set Frodo down, and Arod appeared out of nowhere, leaping up to settle in his lap. Frodo grinned at the dog and scratched behind his ears.

 

“There you are,” Boromir said, sounding quite pleased with himself. “You want to rant?”

 

“No,” Frodo sighed. “Not really. Hey, can you get my phone charger for me? I’m gonna call my uncle.”

 

“Sure,” Boromir said, “where is it?”

 

“My bag,” Frodo said in a mumble. Boromir looked around for it, then Eomer handed it to him and he took it with a nod. Boromir set it down on the couch by Frodo and Arod licked it, then whined. Frodo chuckled, then dug around in it until he found the cord and brick, then plugged it in behind the couch. Boromir went back into his room and Gimli set a cup of coffee on the table in front of Frodo before going back into the basement. Eomer disappeared into his room and Aragorn followed Gimli, shaking his head. Legolas hesitated by the stairs.

 

“Is screaming really that cathartic?” Legolas said.

 

“Definitely,” Frodo said. “Let’s all the bad energy out of your lungs.”

 

Legolas raised an eyebrow. “I’ll have to try that sometime,” he mumbled and vanished down the stairs. Frodo gave a nod at his back and unlocked his phone.

 

He dialed his uncles’ house phone and held it up to his ear, one hand playing with Arod’s ears. It rang for a moment, then someone picked up the phone.

 

_“House of Baggins-Durinson, this is Thorin speaking.”_

 

“Hey, it’s Frodo.”

 

His uncle’s tone changed immediately from the bored automatic answer to pleasant surprise. _“Frodo! Bilbo’s still at work, did you need to talk to him?”_

 

Frodo gave a shrug, leaning back on the cushions. “Sort of, but you’ll do. How’s your day been?”

 

_“Rather boring, I admit, I’ve hit that point in retirement where I want to find another job.”_

 

“You should try teaching,” Frodo said. “Or being, like, a narrator.”

 

_“I doubt I would have the patience for that, lad. How was your day?”_

 

“Horrid,” Frodo said with a heavy sigh. “I don’t see why I have to have so many science credits.”

 

_“Ah, well, even liberal arts colleges have yet to get the memo that the arts are perfectly capable of sustaining one’s education without the addition of math and science. Which class was it?”_

 

“Biology,” Frodo said. “How’d you survive university?”

 

_“A lot of Red Bull, several less than stellar coping mechanisms, and an average of three hours sleep per week.”_

 

“Red Bull tastes nasty,” Frodo grumbled. He heard his uncle chuckle lightly, the deep rumble sounded almost like static over the phone.

 

_“I hear there’s now other things. I’m sure Starbucks can keep you afloat just as well as Red Bull.”_

 

“I suppose,” Frodo sighed. Thorin chuckled again and he smiled a little. “Tell me about being bored. What do you think you’ll do?”

 

_“Well, Bilbo thinks I should write motivational speeches, but I think he was being sarcastic.”_

 

Frodo snorted. His uncle was known for his less than encouraging pep talks. “Don’t let him convince you,” he said. “You could write self-help books, though.”

 

_“I could, but I think I do enough self-help with AA. I have no use for book royalties.”_

 

“Fiction, then? You and Uncle Bilbo could collaborate on those stories you used to tell me.”

 

_“I thought vampires were all the rage now, not dragons.”_

 

Frodo laughed at that and he could practically hear his uncle smiling. “I think sparkly vampires are getting tiresome for everyone, we could use a good dragon for a change.”

 

_“I’ll consult Bilbo on it, then. He’ll want to have the little thief and the dethroned king become lovers now you’re old enough that it won’t ruin your innocence, but I don’t think I would mind too much.”_

 

“Ooh, I ship it.”

 

_“Is that what the kids say these days? I feel old.”_

 

“You are old,” Frodo assured him. “Speaking of, what do you want for your 60th birthday?”

 

_“I am turning 50, thank you very much, and I’d like you to remember my age.”_

 

“Right, I’ll get you a coffee mug with some silly bit about being the best uncle in the world.”

 

_“Afraid that would have to go to Bilbo, but I’ll settle for second best uncle if they have one.”_

 

“You’re too modest,” Frodo said. “The both of you tie.”

 

_“I will accept that. But I would like a new cast iron skillet, the old one’s getting harder and harder to keep seasoned.”_

 

“Noted,” Frodo said. Arod nosed at his hand and he patted the dog’s snout, before petting his ears. “Did I tell you, one of my housemates snuck his dog onto campus?”

 

_“You have not said, but that’s great. Is it a big dog or a little one?”_

 

“Big one,” Frodo said, chuckling at Arod trying to curl up further on his lap, “but he seems to think he’s a lapdog. His name’s Arod.”

 

_“That’s lovely, Frodo. What sort is he?”_

 

Frodo shrugged, playing with one of Arod’s ears. “I think a lab mix, but he might have some Dane in him, since he’s so huge. He’s as tall as my waist and almost as long.”

 

_“Your housemate won’t have trouble hiding him, will they?”_

 

“No, I think Eomer came to an arrangement with whoever looks over the houses. Either that, or everyone loves Arod too much to complain. He’s very well trained, too, and a master cuddler.”

 

He heard Thorin chuckle again, and in the background, a door opened and closed. Frodo sat up a little, then caught a snatch of conversation muffled by what was likely a hand covering the mouthpiece. Then:

 

_“Bilbo’s home, Frodo, would you like to speak with him?”_

 

“I’d love to!” Frodo said, grinning at nothing. Arod lifted his head to look at him, askance, then dropped his head back onto Frodo’s knee.

 

_“Hello, my boy, how are you?”_

 

“Much better for talking to you two, Uncle, how are you?”

 

_“I’m alright, someone over at the inn made a fuss earlier but it’s dealt with and over so no harm done.”_

 

Frodo nodded as Bilbo began to babble, as his uncle often did, but he’d slipped into old, fond memories of his uncle’s inn, Bag End. It had belonged to his parents, Frodo’s great-aunt and uncle, but when they retired they left it to him. Frodo had spent many a day running around the carpeted hallways and quite a few playing busboy for the kitchens. He’d even gotten to work the front desk a few times in the past few years. The inn had had a pub once upon a time, but his uncle had closed it around the same time Frodo was born.

 

_“... oh, and then Fatty Bolger had the audacity to say I was buying vegetables from the Proudfoots, and I had half a mind to tell him I would be if he didn’t stuff it!”_

 

Frodo smiled, then perked up as he heard his own front door open. Sam waved to him and he waved back, before returning to his uncle on the phone.

 

“Sam just got back,” he said.

 

_“Oh, then tell him to go and give you a hug, you’ve had a bad day, apparently.”_

 

“I didn’t say I had a bad day,” Frodo said, but he was smiling.

 

_“I practically raised you, Frodo Baggins, I know you call home for two reasons: Care packages and because you’ve had a bad day. Say hello to Sam and the others for me, will you?”_

 

“I will. Bye Uncle Bilbo, Uncle Thorin, love you both!”

 

_“Bye now, my boy!”_

 

_“Goodbye, lad!”_

 

Frodo lowered the phone and hung up, then looked up and waved at Sam. Sam held up a finger to him, swiped at his phone, then pushed it into his pocket and walked over to the couch. Frodo held up his arms to Sam and pouted.

 

“I was informed that the first thing you did when you got home was scream very loudly,” Sam said.

 

“I did,” Frodo said. He made grabby hands at his boyfriend. “I require cuddles.”

 

“You always require cuddles,” Sam snorted and dropped onto the couch beside Arod, then wormed his way behind the dog and threw an arm around Frodo’s shoulders. He pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “So, what happened?”

 

“I dislike bones,” Frodo said. Sam blinked.

 

“Why?” he said.

 

“I mean I dislike the skeletal system.”

 

“Oh, that makes more sense. Complicated stuff?”

 

“My bio professor lost his temper twice,” Frodo sighed. Sam made a tutting noise and kissed his temple.

 

“I shall have to scold him, then,” Sam said. Frodo smiled. “But you’re feeling better?”

 

“Yeah. Like you said, when I got back I shouted a bit. I scared everyone who was home; Aragorn, Eomer, Legolas, Gimli, and Boromir. They all came running, then Boromir hugged me and Gimli made me some coffee. Then, I called home and chatted with Uncle Thorin and Uncle Bilbo. Fatty Bolger is fussing about vegetables again”

 

Sam chuckled. “I wish I could have seen their faces,” he said, talking about their housemates.

 

“I passed on the wisdom of screaming to let out your feelings to Legolas,” Frodo said smugly. “And I greatly confused Aragorn.”

 

“Nice,” Sam said. Frodo dropped his head onto Sam’s shoulder and curled his fingers into Arod’s fur. Now he was ensconced with his boyfriend and a cuddly dog, he felt very much better. He unlocked his phone and found a notification waiting for him

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_Not A Beard:_ **

_(Not A Beard has changed Frodo Baggin’s nickname to The screamer)_

 

Frodo half smiled, then adjusted something.

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_The screamer:_ **

_(The screamer has changed his nickname to THE SCREAMER)_

 

_iii_

_Boromir_

 

Boromir was unfamiliar with the feeling of awkwardness. He did not usually find himself in situations where he was the outsider, where he was the nervous one, hands wringing and eyes darting around the room. He knew how to deal with _other_ people being nervous, had plenty of experience from Frodo, but it wasn’t like he could just throw his head back and scream until he felt better. He felt like he was trapped inside a glass box that no one could see until he told them, but to tell them would be to admit that he was trapped, and admitting that he was trapped would make the glass grow closer, sealing him in even further, making him feel twice as trapped as before.

 

Haldir leaned forward, pushing his mug of coffee forward as he did. “You okay, mate?”

 

Boromir shrugged. “I don’t know what to do.”

 

Haldir gave him a sympathetic smile. “We’ve all been there. It’s okay.”

 

Boromir struggled to find the words, opening and closing his mouth until finally he groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “You don’t get it! I’ve _never_ – I haven’t – I mean, I’ve never been interested in, you know. It’s all just so – It’s weird and I don’t like it!”

 

Haldir patted his arm. “Do you want to just talk or would you like to listen to my story?”

 

Boromir couldn’t meet his eyes. He nodded, then took a rueful sip from his coffee. “I don’t know. I mean, you said yourself, you’ve been… Aware of your situation for a while. This.... This is really unexpected.”

 

“I think, though, in a way you have it easier,” Haldir murmured. Boromir looked up at him, confused at his words. “I mean, think about it, you’re grown, you’ve gotten past the usual drama already, you won’t ever have to worry about family kicking you out because you’re gay.”

 

“I’m not gay,” Boromir said insistently. Haldir paused, then nodded.

 

“It’s okay,” he said.

 

“I’m not being stubborn or homophobic,” Boromir said with a groan. “I mean, my little brother’s bisexual and I’d never begrudge him for it, I love Faramir exactly the way he is. But, me, I’m not… I don’t know. I’ve never…”

 

“It’s okay.”

 

“You keep saying that, but I don’t think you realize!”

 

“No, I do,” Haldir snapped, then he stopped and sighed. “Sorry. Look, I get that you’re really upset. I went through the same thing when I started to realize things. A lot of people do. It’s normal, it’s okay to be confused. You don’t have to find a label yet, you don’t need to figure everything out right away.”

 

Boromir scowled at his coffee mug. “I’ve never been good at taking things slow.”

 

“That’s fine,” Haldir said. “The first step is to understand that you’re not wrong, to accept that what you are is natural. At least, that’s what I found. And accepting it doesn’t have to mean you’re okay with it, I had a friend in school who realized she was bisexual and accepted it, but it took her a full two years for her to actually process the fact that she was bi and even longer to become okay with the idea of dating girls. It takes time, Boromir.”

 

“I don’t want it to take time, I want it to go away,” Boromir snapped. “I don’t want to be attracted to Eomer!”

 

Haldir hesitated, then took a sip of his coffee as if trying to occupy the moment. Boromir let out another groan and covered his eyes.

 

“I… I wasn’t opposed to the idea of guys,” he mumbled, “in school. I – I mean, I used to watch straight and gay porn, but I never really got a crush on a guy. I _like_ Eomer, and I don’t _like_ the fact that I do!”

 

“I get it,” Haldir murmured. “It’s okay.”

 

Boromir scowled. “Why do you keep saying that it’s okay? I’m not okay, clearly.”

 

“I’m not saying that you’re okay. I’m saying that what you’re going through, what you’re feeling, your frustrations, your sadness, whatever, all of that, it’s okay that you feel it. It’s normal, it’s natural.”

 

Boromir only scowled harder. “I don’t want it to be okay, or normal, or whatever, I want it to go away.”

 

“That’s okay, too.”

 

Boromir heaved a sigh and covered his eyes again. His emotions were running far too close to the surface. He never understood Frodo’s desire to scream until he felt better more than he did right then.

 

“I don’t know what I am,” he croaked.

 

Haldir took his hand and squeezed it, a gesture of comfort and reassurance only. “That’s okay.”

 

Boromir dropped his forehead onto their hands clasped together and inhaled shakily, then squeezed his eyes to push the water from them. Haldir was silent, his hand steady as a foundation in Boromir’s. He inhaled and exhaled, then tried to calm his breathing and sat up, rubbing at his eyes.

 

“My brother made out with him, you know,” Boromir grumbled. “At the party on Sunday.”

 

“At least you know he’s not straight?”

 

Boromir shook his head. “I already knew he wasn’t. But… My little brother made out with the guy I like, and I like a guy. Usually, I’m making out with the girls that he likes. The world’s gone upside down.”

 

“If it helps, I don’t think they really like each other.”

 

Boromir squinted at him, then sniffed and grabbed a napkin to rub his nose on. “How’s that?”

 

“First, Faramir’s all sad because he likes a girl and he’s pretty sure she doesn’t feel the same,” Haldir said, “second, Eomer said to Faramir flat out that he was looking for something meaningless because neither of them had the person they wanted. So, there.”

 

Boromir huffed. “Who’s Faramir pining for?”

 

“You’re a good brother, aren’t you?”

 

“What?” Boromir muttered, frowning. Haldir smiled at him.

 

“I say that the guy you like and your brother made out because they both liked different people and wanted comfort and you ask about your brother first. That’s the sign of a good older brother.”

 

Boromir grunted, nodding a little, then leaned back. “Our dad wasn’t around much to care, we learned to care about each other enough to make up for it. But who’s he pining for?”

 

“I don’t know, some blonde. He never said her name.”

 

“How do you know she’s blonde if he never even said her name?” Boromir said with a frown.

 

Haldir laughed. “He writes sappy poetry, you know? He writes about her from time to time. He wrote this little piece about how her eyes weren’t just blue and her hair wasn’t just blonde and he didn’t want to be just friends. It was cute.”

 

Boromir scowled to himself, then let the nagging question present itself. “Who do you think Eomer was pining after?” he asked in a quiet voice.

 

Haldir watched him for a second, then he shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “You’re his friend, not me.”

 

Boromir sighed and pushed his hair back with a hand, not at all happy with Haldir’s answer. “What do I do?” he asked, at a complete loss.

 

“Unfortunately, you have to figure that out.”

 

“And if I just want to make it go away?”

 

Haldir smiled dryly, then squeezed his hand again. “I don’t think that would work.”

 

Boromir scowled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _y'know when i started this story it was my full intention to have it be completely not-serious mix of trash and fluff, but now boromir's having sexuality crises left right and center, legolas and gimli are not dealing with their attraction to each other well, and i've got plans for writing thorin and bilbo's story where addiction/alcoholism will abound. be grateful that my brain is such a mess that i'm doing all this, guys._   
>  _though in all seriousness, screaming is very effective at relieving stress that's how i got through my last two semesters of college p much._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> translations! _oh mon putain dieu legolas has a dirty mouth_  
>  _Je te veux:_ I want you  
>  _Je veux que tu me baises:_ I want you to fuck me  
>  _Oui:_ Yes  
>  _Oh, dieu merci:_ Oh, thank god  
>  _J'ai besoin de toi en moi:_ I need you in me  
>  _J'ai besoin de toi a faîtes-moi crier, Gimli, s’il te plait, s’il te plait!:_ I need you to make me scream, Gimli, please, please!  
>  _mon cher, baise-moi maintenant, s’il te plait!:_ my dear, fuck me now, please!  
>  _Oui, mais c'est –:_ Yes, but that's –  
>  _Oui, mon cher, tout ce que tu veux:_ Yes, my dear, whatever you want  
>  _s’il te plait, baise-moi déjà!:_ please, fuck me already!  
>  _dieu, quand tu veux:_ god, whenever you want  
>  _Lómhara:_ precious (Irish)  
>  _vite/plus vite:_ quick/faster  
>  _Beaux rêves:_ Sweet dreams
> 
>  
> 
> _again, feel free to leave corrections in the comments if i've messed up the french; there's a bit of difficulty bc there's not an exact translation of 'fuck' into french, i'm using the verb 'baiser' which is usually 'to kiss' but can be translated as 'to fuck' as well as the noun 'la baise' which is pretty close, so you'll have to forgive me of that. leave a kudos and a review if you liked it, and i'll see you again at least once more this week with another chapter. things explode next time. it's gonna be fun._  
>  _edit: once again, thanks to paradis_artificiels for their help in saving my monolingual ass from google translate_


	7. seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Pippin opens his fool mouth at the wrong time, Arwen is tired of people's bullshit, and Sam negotiates the end of a crisis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _no translations needed this time, bc by now you all know what chéri means, right? i might have another chapter ready to post before i leave for camp, but if not, you can keep an eye on[my tumblr](http://senatorofsorcery.tumblr.com/) for several lotr related posts and a moodboard/story cover for the fic! i post mostly memes and fandom shit, but i do post a few moodboard/lockscreen aesthetic things every now and then, like [this story cover for my other lotr fic](http://senatorofsorcery.tumblr.com/post/163079280087/the-white-gulls-are-calling-story-cover-featuring). it's all queued and scheduled for next week, anyway._

* * *

 

_i_

_Pippin_

 

Pippin made the decision to _not_ declare his major at the beginning of the year with the full intention of eventually picking either Physics or History before Christmas. At this point in time, halfway through November, Full-Time Internet Hobo was looking like more of an optimistic major than Physics, or at least Chemistry.

 

“I have no clue what the fuck he’s saying,” Merry muttered under his breath to Pippin.

 

“He’s talking about _fireworks_ !” Pippin hissed back. “Why the fuck is he talking about _fireworks_?”

 

“Ahem.”

 

Pippin looked up and flushed. Professor Gandalf was glaring at them both.

 

“Perhaps you would like to take over the instruction of the class, Peregrin Took?” Gandalf said peevishly.

 

“Erm, no, thank you, Professor,” Pippin said with copious amounts of shame. He heard giggles behind him.

 

“No, no, come up here,” Gandalf said. “You can at the very least assist me in this next demonstration.”

 

Pippin paled. He had heard of Gandalf’s _demonstrations_. The gray-haired professor seemed to smirk at him, then raised a hand and beckoned a wizened finger. Pippin stook on shaking knees; he shot Merry a look that was begging for pity, but Merry only shook his head, avoiding eye contact. Pippin turned back to the front of the lab room and walked with his proverbial tail between his legs to where Gandalf was standing at the front of the room, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

 

“Tell me, Master Took, what will happen if I take potassium permanganate mixed with sulfuric acid and add a drop of ethanol alcohol?”

 

Pippin blinked. “Uh,” he said.

 

Gandalf raised an eyebrow, then slowly, he smiled. “You don’t know?”

 

“No?”

 

“I see,” Gandalf said, and Pippin did not like how delighted he sounded. Then the professor pulled from under his desk a white lab coat, a set of fire resistant gloves, and a pair of safety goggles. Pippin gulped. “Put these on, then,” he said, holding them out to Pippin.

 

He hesitated, but Gandalf only pushed them into his hands. Pippin looked out at the classroom and found Merry’s eyes, then scowled when he saw that Merry had his phone held up and was probably recording whatever was about to happen. Merry gave him a grin and a thumbs up. Pippin pulled on the lab coat and heavy gloves, feeling very uncomfortable with the fact that whatever was about to happen clearly required fire resistant gloves, then strapped on the safety goggles.

 

“Excellent,” Gandalf said, clapping his hands together. Then he took a decisive step back. “Now, the potassium permanganate is right there by your elbow. Add a few spoonfuls to this metal dish, then the sulfuric acid will be right next to the potassium. You’ll need to add a few drops of it and then stir it with that glass stirrer there.”

 

Pippin did so, all the while thinking that he highly regretted opening his mouth. Whatever Gandalf was going to have him do couldn’t be too dangerous, thanks to the rules of the lab, but Gandalf was known for finding loopholes when it came to his experiments.

 

“And after a moment, take that bottle of ethanol and use the dropper to add a bit, give it a good squeeze and empty the dropper, that should do it.”

 

Pippin glanced at Gandalf, who was still smiling and standing a good distance from the desk. The old professor bounced up and down on his toes, still much too pleased with himself. Pippin picked up the bottle of ethanol and unscrewed the lid, pulling out the built in dropper, which probably held no more than half a teaspoon. He held it out, at least 20 centimeters over the metal dish of potassium permanganate and sulfuric acid, and squeezed the dropper.

 

The ethanol seemed to fall in slow motion as he retracted his hand, striking the surface of the black goo inside the metal dish. A second later, there was a loud _pop!_ , a flash of bright orange fire, and a cloud of smoke and soot mushroomed over the desk. Pippin coughed a little.

 

“There,” Gandalf said smugly. “A natural firework. Thank you, Master Took, you may go clean up and resume your seat.”

 

Pippin blinked at him, then realized that his safety goggles were covered in a fine layer of soot. He screwed the lid back on the ethanol and hurried to the wash station, where he stripped off his gloves and turned on the faucet to wipe any soot off his face. He kept the lab coat, however, blackened as it was, deciding it would be his souvenir of Gandalf’s demonstration.

 

Merry elbowed him in the ribs, then showed him his phone. Pippin leaned in to see his own face, blackened with soot, blinking at him. He shoved Merry’s hand away as his boyfriend choked with quieted laughter.

 

A second later, Pippin’s phone vibrated against his leg. Gandalf’s back was to them at that moment, addressing someone on the other side of the lab, so Pippin chanced it and pulled his phone out.

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_D-List Shakespeare:_ **

Check out Pip’s face!

_(MULTI-MEDIA ATTACHMENT)_

 

Pippin elbowed Merry back, but his boyfriend was too busy giggling. “Fuck you,” he muttered rather ungraciously.

 

His phone vibrated again. He groaned a little when he saw the response.

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_THE SCREAMER:_ **

_(THE SCREAMER has changed Pippin Took’s nickname to Arsonist-In-Training)_

 

“Fuck you guys, seriously,” Pippin grumbled under his breath.

 

_ii_

_Arwen_

 

It’s the same old argument, version 1 since it was with her dad and not Aragorn. Like always, it leaves her angry and crying.

 

_“dad, i’m not fucking around i love him, i need to be with him!”_

 

_“he’s not good for you, arwen, he’s a bad influence!”_

 

_“you offered him a place in our home, remember? you invited him in!”_

 

_“i did not invite him to steal you away from me!”_

 

_“he’s not stealing me away, dad!”_

 

Someone knocked on her door. She rubbed at her eyes and sat up, muttering: “What?”

 

“It’s me.”

 

“Come in.”

 

Aragorn opened the door, then shut it behind him and strode over to her bed, then stopped halfway and stood there awkwardly, his hands shoved into his pockets.

 

“Should I bother asking how it went?” he asked quietly.

 

Arwen shrugged. “Same old song and dance.”

 

_He’ll be at constant risk, under constant scrutiny, you’ll be put under a microscope and have your every waking moment pinned down to be examined by all the defense lawyers and the mob bosses. You deserve better than being a prosecutor’s wife, you deserve more than someone hunting down old grudges, you deserve a castle, he’ll give you a cell._

 

“You can tell me, you know. It’s not going to hurt my feelings.”

 

“I don’t want to tell you,” she mumbled. “It hurts me.”

 

Aragorn still didn’t approach her. Arwen let out a frustrated groan and stuck a hand into the air, waving him forward. He moved hesitantly, then sat down on the very edge of the foot of her bed. Arwen groaned again and grabbed his arm, tugging him closer to her.

 

“Maybe he’s right, Arwen,” Aragorn said, “you deserve better –”

 

“Shut _up_ , Aragorn.”

 

He did. Arwen wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest, and after a second he closed his arms around her shoulders. He pressed a kiss to her hair.

 

“I wouldn’t blame you,” he murmured.

 

“I said shut up.”

 

“We have to do this eventually –”

 

“No, we don’t have to do anything ever, my dad has to do something, he has to take his ego and shove it up his ass.”

 

“Arwen…”

 

She sniffed, but sat up and leaned away from him. Aragorn let her go too easily. “I know you hate me fighting with him,” she whispered, “and I hate having to fight with him too.”

 

Aragorn said nothing. The silence was pregnant with the unspoken words, unsaid guilt, unmentioned hurt.

 

“But we don’t _have_ to do anything.”

 

He didn’t meet her gaze. Arwen crumpled a little, then set a hand at his shoulder and pushed him back, forcing him to lay down on the bed. She settled down next to him, her head resting on his chest.

 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered.

 

“I wish he would just let it go.”

 

“He has a –”

 

“I swear to God, if you say that he has a point one more time –”

 

“But he does, he’s right that I’m bad for your future, he’s right that I won’t ever be able to provide for you the way you deserve, the way you’re used to, he’s right that being with me will be just as bad, just as stressful –”

 

Arwen flipped over and stopped his babbling with a kiss. Aragorn sighed into her mouth and pressed a hand to her cheek. She brushed the hair from his forehead and kissed the bared skin.

 

“You deserve better than me,” he murmured.

 

“You are all I could ever need,” she answered.

 

Aragorn wrapped his arms around her and held tightly to her, as if he was afraid that when he let go, he’d lose her forever. Sometimes she thought that he expected it.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered in her ear.

 

“I’m sorry my father keeps coming between us,” she replied. “I wish he’d let me go.”

 

“I wish that, too.”

 

Arwen knew he was lying, and he knew that she knew it. It was the same old song and dance.

 

She remembered when it hadn’t been like that. She could remember when they talked about the future like it was theirs, theirs and theirs alone, when Aragorn didn’t flinch away and their being together didn’t make anyone angry. She could remember when they were both hot-headed teenagers and they didn’t care what anyone thought.

 

The murder of Aragorn’s father had shattered that.

 

Arwen kissed his shoulder and tried to pick up the pieces, knowing full well they would only come crashing down the next time the subject was broached; when she mentioned marriage, when her father mentioned ‘that nice young man from his office,’ when news reports on Arathorn’s killer came on; always nothing new, nothing good, exonerations and refuted evidence, _INFAMOUS MAFIA LEADER SAURON DECLARED NOT GUILTY OF X CRIME_ , things like that. It always made Aragorn flinch and Arwen tense. It always came back up. They always said the same things, cried the same tears, shouted the same words, agreed to leave it, with the unspoken _until next time_ always showing up.

 

“I have to study,” Aragorn murmured.

 

There was the avoidance.

 

“Okay,” Arwen mumbled.

 

There was the acceptance.

 

He got up and left the room. Arwen turned out her lights and lay down on her bed, staring at a darkened ceiling, and there was the wondering, when would it happen again?

 

_iii_

_Sam_

 

Sam was so done.

 

“Are you kidding me?” he sighed.

 

Frodo blinked at him innocently. From within his blanket fort. Arod stuck his nose out, probably smelling the Chinese food Sam had brought.

 

“It’s a perfectly legitimate method of ceasing distractions for studying,” Frodo said with a sniff.

 

“It’s a perfectly legitimate way of stealing Eomer’s poor pup is what it is, m’dear,” Sam said with a rival sniff. He set the food on Frodo’s desk and stepped over what was likely a pile of books, though he couldn’t tell as it was covered by blankets.

 

“Join the dark side, Samwise,” Frodo said in a deep voice, probably imitating Darth Vadar. “Together, you and I shall rule the pillow forts of the world!”

 

“Never,” Samwise said, then ducked under a blanket.

 

“Hey!” Frodo protested. “I did not formally invite you in.” Sam gave him a quick kiss. Frodo blinked, then huffed. “Fine, you can come in.”

 

“Thank you,” Sam said. He patted Arod’s head, but the dog was too busy sniffing his jeans. “I didn’t bring you any treats, pupper.”

 

“Is Eomer asking for him back?” Frodo asked.

 

Sam gave him a look. Frodo widened his eyes and stuck out his bottom lip, then grabbed Arod about the middle and hauled the very confused dog onto his lap. “Arod likes it in the pillow fort with me,” Frodo whined.

 

“Eomer likes it when his dog is not pilfered from him,” Sam pointed out.

 

Frodo stuck his bottom lip out farther. Arod licked his face. Sam sighed and pulled out his phone.

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_Sam Gamgee:_ **

It’s no use eomer, arod has officially been dognapped

 

Frodo, who had peered over Sam’s shoulder to read what he was doing, squealed in delight and kissed his cheek. Sam huffed again, but draped an arm around Frodo’s shoulders.

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_Not A Beard:_ **

BUT HE’S MY DOG COME ON GUYS

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_Sam Gamgee:_ **

Nope, it’s no use, Arod has imprinted on Frodo. He won’t stop licking his face and everything it makes it hard for me to kiss him

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_Not A Beard:_ **

THIS IS BLATANT DOG THEFT SOMEONE DO SOMETHING

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_The Beard:_ **

frodo will you give back the dog if i get uncle bilbo to send some candied violets in the next care package?

 

“Frodo, will you release the dog if Mr. Bilbo sends candied violets?”

 

“One second,” Frodo muttered, typing on his phone. Then he grinned and swiped at something before resuming typing.

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_THE SCREAMER:_ **

Uncle Bilbo’s already sending candied violets.

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_The Beard:_ **

damn

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_the braid:_ **

Wtf are candied violets?

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_The Beard:_ **

YOU’VE NEVER HAD CANDIED VIOLETS?

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_the braid:_ **

No?

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_The Beard:_ **

…

i’ll share mine.

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_grandpa:_ **

Character development

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_The Beard:_ **

you shut it grandpa

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_THE SCREAMER:_ **

Who says you get any?

 

“Do I, at least, get some, m’dear?” Sam asked Frodo in a hushed voice.

 

“Shhh,” Frodo said. Then: “Duh.”

 

Sam grinned and dropped his head onto Frodo’s shoulder. Arod’s nose was in his face in an instant, and Sam cringed as the dog licked his cheek.

 

“Down, boy,” Sam said. Arod whined and dropped his head onto his knee.

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_The Beard:_ **

Uncle Bilbo would force you to share

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_THE SCREAMER:_ **

Uncle Bilbo is not here.

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_Not A Beard:_ **

UM CAN WE FOCUS ON THE MORE IMPORTANT ISSUE AT HAND?

I WANT MY DOG BACL

*back

 

“Maybe you should release the dog,” Sam said.

 

Frodo whined and hugged Arod again. “But he’s so comfy,” he mumbled into the dog’s fur. Arod responded by licking Frodo’s hair.

 

“But Eomer wants his dog back?” Sam tried.

 

“But he’s so comfy!” Frodo repeated.

 

Sam sighed. This was a lost cause.

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_Not A Beard:_ **

FRODO PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSE

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_the braid:_ **

*please you forgot the a

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_The Beard:_ **

can you be less of an assholr rn?

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_the braid:_ **

*asshole

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_The Beard:_ **

go suck a dick, frenchie

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_the braid:_ **

Only if it’s yours, chéri

 

“Gross,” Sam muttered. Frodo snorted, but wrinkled his nose too.

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_Not A Beard:_ **

THERE ARE INNOCENT CHILDREN IN THIS CHAT GET A ROOM

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_The Beard:_ **

aye, that we’ll do once he gets his pretty arse home

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_Not A Beard:_ **

SERIOUSLY GUYS

INNOCENT CHILDREN!

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_the braid:_ **

Good luck rescuing your dog Eomer!

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_Not A Beard:_ **

INNOCENT!! CHILDREN!

 

“Can you give the dog back since Eomer is so valiantly defending our innocence?” Sam asked Frodo.

 

“But he likes it here,” Frodo said, petting Arod’s nose, “don’t you, precious?”

 

Arod let out a loud snort, then licked Frodo’s hand.

 

“He may like it here, yes, but he’s Eomer’s dog, m’dear, not ours.”

 

Frodo pouted. Sam raised his eyebrows. Frodo pouted harder, and Sam raised his eyebrows further. Frodo huffed.

 

“Fine,” he grumbled.

 

Sam pecked him on the cheek, then wiped his mouth hastily, and texted the group chat again.

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_Sam Gamgee:_ **

Frodo has agreed to return your dog

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_Not A Beard:_ **

GODSEND!

 

Frodo lifted a blanket, exposing an escape route, then gave Arod’s rump a little push. Arod hauled himself to his feet and padded out of the blanket fort, tail wagging and tongue lolling. Sam gave a little nod, then scrambled out himself to fetch their dinner. When he came back, Frodo showed him his phone, grinning.

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_Not A Beard:_ **

_(Not A Beard has changed Sam Gamgee’s nickname to Master-Frodo-Whisperer)_

 

Sam snorted. “As if anyone else could be,” he muttered. “Now, I brought lo mein, egg drop soup, and an order of dumplings.”

 

Frodo interrupted him with a kiss. “I love you, Sam,” he said with a sappy grin.

 

“Love you, too, m’dear,” Sam mumbled with a blush. “And it’s about time you ate some proper food, you’ve been eating nothing but mac and cheese lately, and that ain’t good for no one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _so, as you can tell, i changed my mind about sauron. ai, the angst with those two... it's almost as bad as legolas and gimli with their unhealthy coping mechansims_   
>  _edit: forgot to put this in earlier, but[here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=huQ9kwzS8gk) is a video of a potassium permanganate/ethanol reaction; there's a loud warning noise at the beginning so don't have your volume up too high._


	8. eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Legolas and Gimli begin to drive Frodo and Sam mad, Eowyn has a cold, and Legolas and Gimli then succeed in driving Frodo and Sam mad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _i know it's been ages since i updated last, please forgive me, it's been a hectic couple of weeks_

* * *

 

_i_

_Frodo_

 

“Hey, honorary Durinsons, we’ve got mail!” came Gimli’s shout from the kitchen. Frodo pulled his pillow over his ear and decided that he was going to thoroughly murder Gimli later, when he had had his beauty sleep.

 

Someone knocked on his door and he groaned at it. “Frodo, you’ve got mail!”

 

“I heard you the first time!” Frodo called back. “Lemme sleep.”

 

“It’s all official and fancy looking! It’s got calligraphy and shit!”

 

“Bully for it,” Frodo grumbled.

 

“They’re save the dates!” he heard Merry shout. Frodo sat halfway up, blinking. “For Fíli and Ori’s wedding!”

 

“Let me see,” Frodo said to Gimli through the door. “Come in.”

 

Gimli swung the door open and tossed a letter at him. Frodo fumbled the catch, picked it up from the floor while Gimli sniggered, then ripped it open and pulled out the parchment like paper.

 

“Save the date, dear friend, Fíli Durinson and Ori Rison will be married June 23rd, 2018, at Bag End Inn,” Frodo read aloud. “Hey! Uncle Bilbo’s letting them get married at the inn!”

 

“That’s wonderful, m’dear,” Sam grumbled, still under the blankets. “Go back to sleep.”

 

“No, I’m awake now, get up, precious, I want to look at suits!”

 

“What do you need to look at suits for?” Sam bemoaned as Frodo crawled from the bed to find his laptop. “Wedding’s not til June, it’s not even December yet!”

 

“And wedding gifts, that too!”

 

“You need to buy Christmas gifts before you buy wedding gifts,” Sam mumbled.

 

“Ooh, I’ll have to ask Ori where the registry is.”

 

“They’ll send it out in the mail with the proper invitations!”

 

“I think I’d like to get them a good crockpot, or a bread machine, what do you think?”

 

Sam grabbed Frodo’s arm and gave a tug; he fell back and landed on the pillows with a flop. Sam wrapped an arm around his waist, then kissed his forehead and pulled the blankets back over them.

 

“It’s before noon on a Saturday,” Sam mumbled. “Go to sleep, m’dear.”

 

Frodo rolled his eyes, but shut them dutifully. After a moment, Sam’s breath fell into an even rhythm and his grip on Frodo’s waist relaxed.

 

“Do you think they’d like a bread machine better or a standing mixer?”

 

Sam reached a hand out and dropped it on Frodo’s mouth. “Sleep,” he mumbled, and relaxed. Frodo rolled his eyes a second time, not pausing to open them even so, he fell back asleep quickly.

 

He woke up a few hours later; yawning, he sat up and stretched, then nudged Sam. His boyfriend grumbled and rolled over, pulling all the blankets with him. Frodo nudged him again, making Sam groan and turn to face him.

 

“Whassit?” Sam grunted.

 

“Wake up,” Frodo told him, “it’s past noon.”

 

Sam reached over him and adjusted the clock on the nightstand, then groan and flopped back against the pillows upon seeing that it was indeed past noon. Frodo got out of bed and started hunting for clothes, already beginning to plan aloud what he wanted to do that day.

 

“I think we should go Christmas shopping,” he said. “Or go see a movie. I dunno, I wanna do something.”

 

“It’s December 2nd, pet,” Sam mumbled.

 

“Exactly, I don’t want to leave it for too long.”

 

Sam gave him a look. Frodo raised his eyebrows. Sam snorted, then sat up, nodding in defeat. “We can go Christmas shopping,” he said. “But I want to go to Starbucks first, they should have gingerbread lattes in by now.”

“Yes!” Frodo exclaimed with a fist pump of victory.

 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Sam grumbled again, “you win, I give in, blah, blah.”

 

Frodo pecked his cheek and opened the door for him so he could go to his own room to dress. Shutting the door again, Frodo dressed quickly, grabbed his phone, wallet, and keys, then walked out to wait in the living room. Boromir was curled up on one end of the large couch with his laptop, and he waved to Frodo when he walked in. Boromir pulled out one earbud and looked over at him.

 

“What are you up to?” his friend asked.

 

“We’re gonna go Christmas shopping,” he answered. “After going to Starbucks.”

 

“I want Mass Effect: Andromeda,” Boromir said.

 

“Noted,” Frodo said. Sam exited his room and walked out to join them. “He wants the new Mass Effect game.”

 

“Kay,” Sam said, yawning.

 

“Do you want to see if anyone wants to come with us?” Frodo asked.

 

Sam shrugged, so Frodo, rolling his eyes, moved past him and went down to the basement. Merry’s room was empty, so clearly he and Pippin were out somewhere, Aragorn’s room was vacated and Frodo was sure that he’d seen Arwen’s room empty as well, Boromir was upstairs, but the rest of the rooms were occupied. Faramir said he didn’t want to come, Eowyn had a cold, and Gimli decided it could wait. Legolas wanted to come, however, so Frodo went back upstairs to tell Sam.

 

“He’ll have to sit up front, the backseat’s too cramped for someone as tall as him,” Sam said, “do you mind?”

 

“No, it’s fine,” Frodo said. “Is Eomer here? Did you invite him?”

 

“No?” Sam said.

 

“He’s actually on a run to the store,” Boromir piped up, “to get medicine and chicken soup for Eowyn.”

 

“Oh,” Frodo said.

 

Gimli wandered upstairs, followed by Legolas, who was braiding his hair. “Changed my mind,” Gimli grunted. “Better get it over with.”

 

“Good man,” Frodo said, having no illusions that it was only Legolas’s presence that had changed Gimli’s mind. “Let’s go!”

 

“Wait, I thought Gimli wasn’t coming?” Sam asked. “Raise your hand if you are actually coming.”

 

Frodo stuck his hand up, Gimli raised his dutifully, and Legolas threw one up briefly before finishing his braid.

 

“Okay, fine,” Sam said. “I can fit that many in my car, I guess.”

 

“Can we stop for coffee first?” Legolas asked.

 

“We’re going to Starbucks, don’t worry,” Sam assured him.

 

“Perfect,” Legolas sighed.

 

“I dunno why you lot are so obsessed with their crap,” Gimli grumbled as they left the house, “it’s all frou-frou shit and if you just want a normal cuppa’ it’s terrible.”

 

“Gimli, you think that because you don’t know how to treat a cup of Starbucks coffee,” Frodo assured him, “if you were just a bit more educated, you’d realize that ordering a black cup of coffee is useless.”

 

“They should be able to serve it plain!” Gimli complained.

 

“They do, you just order the wrong thing!” Frodo groaned.

 

“Why’s it all different, then, it should be the same stuff all ‘round!”

 

“Because then you don’t get the beauty of the variety!”

“Oh, hush it!” Sam snapped. Frodo and Gimli ceased their arguing and both pouted. As they neared the car, however, Gimli called shotgun. “Legolas gets it,” Sam said automatically.

 

“Why?” Gimli asked gruffly. “I called it!”

 

Legolas smirked as he got into the front seat.

 

“It’s because he’s taller,” Sam said, “he’ll have his knees rammed up against his chin if he sat in the back.”

 

“It’s his own damn fault he’s tall as a tree!”

 

“I heard no complaints about my height last night,” Legolas said primly. Gimli spluttered, turned red, spluttered some more, then turned a rather remarkable shade of magenta. Frodo rolled his eyes and got into the back seat. After another second’s sputtering, Gimli followed him.

 

Sam pulled out of the parking space and made his way down the lane leading to the campus exit while Legolas fiddled with the radio, finally stopping it on a local pop station. Gimli groaned and let his head hit the window with an audible thud when the static cleared.

 

“What’s the matter with you?” Legolas asked.

 

“This shit’s been played a million times!” Gimli snapped. “Can’t you find something less annoying?”

 

“What’s annoying about Alessia Cara?” Legolas asked, turning around in his seat to glare at Gimli. “And I happen to love this song.”

 

 _“Make it on my own, but I don't wanna grow up / We can stay forever young / Living on my sofa, drinking rum and cola / Underneath the rising sun,”_ sang the radio.

 

“It’s basically the same lyrics repeated a thousand times,” Gimli said.

 

“It’s a work of beauty!” Legolas gasped.

 

“It’s repetitive!”

 

“Zedd is a master artist.”

 

“He writes pop.”

 

“And that’s a _bad_ thing, is it?”

 

“‘Course it is, pop’s always annoying.”

 

“You’re annoying,” Legolas snapped.

 

“Didn’t hear you complaining about that last night,” Gimli shot back. Sam turned the radio up, meeting Frodo’s eyes in the mirror and raising his eyebrows. Legolas had the grace to not blush, rather he glared.

 

“Sometimes I wonder why I put up with you,” he said snootily, then turned around. Gimli reached forward and tugged on his braid; Legolas gave a gasp, then whipped around to glare at him again. “What are you, a child?”

 

“Sometimes I wonder why _I_ put up with _you_ ,” Gimli retorted.

 

“Why did you invite them?” Sam asked Frodo.

 

“I don’t know,” Frodo sighed. “Though, if they keep this up, I won’t protest if you toss them out at high speeds.”

 

Legolas looked appropriately mollified, but Gimli huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. Sam tsked, signaled to turn left, and pulled into the Starbucks driveway.

 

“Gimli, you might as well stay in the car, it wouldn’t do to waste Starbucks coffee on you,” Sam said, parking.

 

“I want coffee, too!”

 

“But you don’t like their coffee!”

 

“It’s better than not having coffee.”

 

“Then will you listen to me this time and not order a dark roast?” Frodo begged. “Order the blonde roast.”

 

“I don’t like blondes,” Gimli snapped, shooting Legolas a look. Legolas got out of the car, swept a strand of hair from his eyes, and gave Gimli the finger as he walked away. “‘Specially hate that one,” Gimli grumbled.

 

“Then why,” Frodo questioned, “ _why_ do you have sex with him?”

 

“It’s good sex!” Gimli snapped, then got out of the car too. Frodo sighed and shared a look with Sam, who rolled his eyes.

 

_ii_

_Eowyn_

 

For the eight time in the past five minutes, Eowyn sneezed. It was the sort of sneeze that had you blinking and inhaling in anticipation for a full minute, then made you jerk forward and kick your feet up when it finally hit, _if_ it happened at all, sometimes your nose would twinge and you’d brace yourself, just for nothing to happen at all.

 

Eowyn glowered.

 

Of all the miserable things in the world, being ill was certainly her least favorite. She was constantly blinking blearily, sniffing through clogged sinuses, coughing up disgusting bits of phlegm, and on top of that she had a fever of 38 degrees but felt like she was sitting inside a walk-in freezer full of slightly off tuna, a smell that had so helpfully presented itself as some strange interpretation of how Arod was meant to smell, as the dog was lying on her lap trying to cure her by waving his paw in her face, which only made her blink blearily some more, and caused the dog to whine.

 

It was mildly nauseating, despite being quite sweet on the dog’s part.

 

 _“Ensign, Warp nine,”_ Captain Picard said. Eowyn sniffed and shifted up a little to lean closer to her laptop, which was playing Next Generation from Netflix, her finger hovering over the mousepad to flick it to the next episode button. The credits started and she clicked. She sniffed again and leaned back, reaching over to the nightstand to grab another cracker; Arod waved a paw and she gently batted it away. Arod whined at her.

 

“Nu, lemme eat,” she mumbled around all the congested sinuses and phlegm.

 

There was a knock at the door and she sat up a little, pausing the show. “Come in,” she called, sounding absolutely horrendous.

 

Eomer opened the door and held up a shopping bag; he crossed the room and dropped it on her bed, before taking up her desk chair.

 

“You sound absolutely horrendous,” he said.

 

“I know!” Eowyn snapped, but snatched at the bag and pulled out cough syrup and throat lozenges. “F’ank you,” she added, a little contritely.

 

“No problem, sis,” he offered. “Arod being a little shit?”

 

“He always acts like ‘bis when I’m sick,” she said, though the word _sick_ sounded more like _ph'ick_.

 

“Want me to put him in my room?” Eomer asked.

 

“No, he’s warm and I’m freezing,” she sighed. “God, I hate ‘bis.”

 

“So do I, you’re a right prat when you’re miserable,” Eomer said, and she chucked a tissue box at him; he dodged, snatched it up and tossed it back onto her bed. “Point proven.”

 

“Harrumph,” she said and scowled. Eomer smiled and shook his head at her. “Hmph!”

 

Her _hmph_ somehow had a _B_ in it. She scowled some more.

 

“I think I’ll leave you to your misery,” Eomer said with a sigh as he stood up. “I don’t want to catch the illness.”

 

“You sure?” she asked sarcastically.

 

“Positive,” he said, grinning dryly at her. “Enjoy your Star Trek.”

 

He left the room, leaving her with nothing to scowl at but Arod and Captain Picard. Captain Picard glared back at her. She glowered harder, then blew a raspberry at the screen. Captain Picard, paused and unable to submit to her superior glare, glared continually. She unpaused it, still glowering.

 

Halfway through the episode, she felt a pang in her stomach that was less nausea and more hunger. She picked up her phone and texted Eomer, asking him to heat up a can of soup for her.

 

 _from_ **_Eomer:_ **

soz but I left im going to the cinema with a mate

 

 _to_ **_Eomer:_ **

Well who’s going to make me soup

 

 _from_ **_Eomer:_ **

idk

 

Eowyn glowered some more. She swiped out of the conversation and stared at her phone for a second, then opened the group chat for her housemates.

 

 _from_ **_Fellowship of the Third House on the Left:_ ** _from_ **_horse princess:_ **

Someone who’s home could you heat up a can of soup for me

 

She set down the phone to wait, her eyes flicking between it and her laptop. After ten minutes, she sighed and figured no one would come. She decided to finish the episode, then go get it herself.

 

Which was when someone knocked.

 

“Wha’?” she called.

 

The door opened, and Faramir walked in, holding a bowl and a roll of paper towels in his hands. “Chicken soup,” he said.

 

“F’anks,” Eowyn said, trying to sound less nasty and miserable, but her congestion refused to allow her.

 

“You sound terrible,” he said.

 

“I know,” she muttered. Faramir set the bowl of soup on her nightstand and put the paper towels next to it, then loitered, sticking his hands in his pockets.

 

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asked.

 

“Not really,” she sighed. “I mean, unless you want to risk the illness and watch Star Trek with me, there’s not much.”

 

“I can keep you company,” he said immediately.

 

Eowyn blinked. “You don’t mind?”

 

“No, I have a remarkably strong immune system,” Faramir assured her, already dropping into her desk chair and reaching out to give Arod a scratch behind the ears. “So, which one are you watching?”

 

“Next Generation,” she said, losing the _T_ in _next_ somewhere amongst the phlegm.

 

“I didn’t peg you as a Trekkie,” he said.

 

“I’m not,” she answered, “I only watch it when I get sick.”

 

Faramir frowned at her. “Really? Why?”

 

“‘S a long story,” she muttered.

 

“We’ve got time,” he said with a shrug.

 

“When I was a kid,” she started, then stopped to sneeze, covering her mouth with a tissue just in time. “Ph’orry,” she mumbled, dropping the tissue into the waste paper basket by her bed. “When I was a kid, my uncle had this lil’ TV wif a built in VCR, I mean, it was lil’ for de time. But when we’d get sick, he’d ph’et it up in our bedrooms, but pretty much the only f’ings we had on VHS were ol’ taped episodes of Star Trek, an’ I _hated_ Star Trek as a kid, but only ‘ecause F’eodred loved it t’ the point of insanity, ph’o I’d only sit f’rough it when I got ph’ick.”

 

Eowyn glanced at Faramir, just to check if he still seemed interested, but his face was enraptured. She licked her lips, then glanced away and continued. “Eventually, I grew to tolerate it, f’en like it a little, but I still only watched it when I got sick. Then my uncle got a DVD player t’ hook up t; de little TV an’ a bunch of Disney movies on DVD, but de next time I got ph’ick, I still watched the VHS tapes of Star Trek. And then by the time I was a teenager, I got all stubborn about admitting to being ph’ick, ph’o Eomer started this joke abou’ how I wa’f’n’t really ph’ick ‘til I started watching Star Trek.”

 

“That’s adorable,” Faramir said, a smile growing on his lips.

 

Eowyn figured he was talking about Eomer, remembering what she’d heard from Gimli about the party a few weeks before, and tried not to scowl. “Yeah, I ph’bose.” She had been trying to say _suppose_. She looked away and tapped the space bar to play the episode.

 

Faramir stayed much longer than she thought he would. She ate the soup, finished her pack of crackers, and started an entire new season, and he hadn’t left yet. She kept glancing at him in between sneezes, which occurred regularly every five minutes. The sun set in her narrow window, and he was still there.

 

He shifted every so often. He crossed and uncrossed his legs. He occasionally rolled his neck. Overall, he thoroughly confused her.

 

Around seven, Eomer walked into her room. He nodded at Faramir, who barely acknowledged him, and asked her what she’d like for dinner. Eowyn was highly confused.

 

“More soup,” she said, starting _soup_ with a _Ph_ and ending it _B_ and avoiding both of their gazes.

 

“You want anything?” Eomer asked Faramir.

 

“I’m fine,” Faramir said.

 

“It’s not a problem, I can heat up three bowls of soup, might as well have some myself.”

 

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Faramir said.

 

“It’s fine,” Eomer said, and left again. Eowyn looked at Faramir.

 

“Are you going to unpause it?” he asked.

 

“Why aren’t you two… more…” she couldn’t find the words.

 

“More what?” he said, frowning.

 

“I dunno,” she said. “Gimli told me wha’ happened, at de party. I f’ought you two would be a bit more… I dunno.”

 

Faramir, to his credit, blushed. “Oh! Uh. Well. You see… The thing is…”

 

“It’s alright,” she said, “I don’t care. Eomer’s not usually good wif blokes, I mean, he usually goes for girls, but it’s still fine.”

 

“No, no, you misunderstand, we’re not… Not like _that_.”

 

She blinked. Faramir looked away from her. “You’re not?”

 

“No,” he said. “We’re both into different people, that was just – uh, drunken misjudgments of a good way of coping.”

 

“Oh,” she said. “Oh.”

 

“Hmm,” Faramir said.

 

“I’d wondered why he ph’uddenly took an interest in you, wha’ wif him fancying Boromir an’ all,” she said without thinking.

 

“He what?” Faramir exclaimed as she clapped her hands over her mouth.

 

“Noffing!” she mumbled. “I ph’aid noffing!”

 

“Eomer fancies _Boromir_?” Faramir hissed.

 

“I din’n’t ph’ay dat!” she tried.

 

Faramir scooted her desk chair closer to the bed. “You’re fooling no one, love, spill.”

 

Eowyn’s heart skipped a beat at _love_ , but she ignored it steadfastly. It was probably just her fever. “Don’ tell ‘im I told you,” she begged.

 

“Swear on my grandmum’s grave,” he said, “and she’s actually in it, so that’s serious.”

 

“Oh, I din’n’t know dat,” she said, “I’m ph’o ph’orry.”

 

“It’s fine, it was years ago, I barely knew her, but get to the part where your brother fancies mine!”

 

“He’s got a f’ing for broad shoulders an’ bluey-gray eyes,” Eowyn said.

 

“That makes so much more sense,” Faramir murmured. “That’s why he went to me instead of someone else – wait.”

 

“Wha’?” she asked, rather miserably.

 

“No, no, never mind,” he said, and somehow he sounded more miserable than her suddenly. “It’s nothing.”

 

“Wait, no, no, I told you sommat, now you tell me,” Eowyn insisted.

 

Faramir looked at her sadly. “I don’t think you want to know.”

 

“Tell me!” she cried. “Or I’ll get you ph’ick.”

 

“I’m probably already going to get sick,” Faramir said, shrugging, then he scooted back his chair. Eowyn reacted instantly.

 

“Arod, door!”

 

The Labradoodle lumbered off the bed, taking his time, but fortunately, Faramir was confused, so the dog got to the door first. He sat, then raised a paw and scratched at the door once, twice, then managed to shut it.

 

“That’s impressive,” Faramir said.

 

“F’anks, I taught ‘im dat,” she said. “Arod, guard de door!”

 

Arod huffed, then lay down in front of the door and looked at her dolefully. “Good boy,” she said, then looked at Faramir. “He won’ let you out ‘til I let him.”

 

“That’s still impressive, if slightly disconcerting,” he said.

 

“You’re fooling no one, ph’o spill,” Eowyn said.

 

Faramir’s shoulders dropped. “Come on, can we not do this?”

 

“I’m ph’ick, f’is is de most fun I’ve had all day,” she countered.

 

“Seriously, Eowyn.”

 

“Nobe!”

 

Faramir abruptly scowled and she blinked, wondering if this was a line she really wasn’t meant to cross. “It’s really none of your business.”

 

“It con’ph’erns my brother, which makes it my business,” she said firmly. “Come on, just tell me, wha’s the ‘arm –”

 

“You!” Faramir snapped.

 

“Me what?” she said.

 

“I fancy you,” he said angrily, then whipped around. “Arod, up!”

 

Arod traitorously got up, and Faramir left the room, leaving her blinking at the dog and Captain Picard facepalming on her laptop.

 

_iii_

_Legolas_

 

Legolas had thought that the outing would be productive and fun, he’d get at least some of his Christmas shopping over with, if not all, and maybe pick up a thing or two for himself.

 

So far, he’d spent half the time arguing with Gimli and the other half seriously wondering why on earth the bloke was so irresistible. And possibly a small portion of it admiring his ass. Possibly.

 

“What even is this shit?” Gimli asked, picking up a scented candle and giving it a whiff, then making a face. “It smells horrid!”

 

“It’s sugar cookie!” Legolas snapped at him. “I think they smell divine.”

 

“I prefer the pumpkin pie one,” Frodo said.

 

“So do I, a bit,” Legolas told him, “but this one reminds me of when my grandmother used to bake on weekends.”

 

“I s’pose that’s not too prissy,” Gimli grumbled.

 

“Gimli Durinson,” Legolas sighed, then paused. “Wait, what’s your middle name?”

 

“Why?” Gimli said suspiciously.

 

“Gróin,” Frodo said helpfully.

 

“Frodo!” Gimli growled.

 

“Gimli Gróin Durinson,” Legolas began again, “for five seconds, can you _not_ voice your every judgmental thought about what I’m buying for Christmas?”

 

“I’m not judging everything!” Gimli countered.

 

“You are!” Legolas snapped again. “First it was the teapot I’m getting my grandfather, next it was the books I’m getting my father, now it’s the candles I’m buying for myself!”

 

“Who even buys themselves a Christmas gift?” Gimli asked. “Isn’t that against the spirit of Christmas?”

 

“The spirit of Christmas is the birth of Jesus and how happy everyone is that he came to Earth just to die for all our sins,” Sam pointed out.

 

“Okay, but besides that,” Gimli said with a touch of pain to his voice, “the spirit of Christmas is giving to others and being selfless.”

 

“Then be selfless long enough that I can finish my shopping _without_ your commentary!” Legolas said. He strode off to pay for the candles, his braid whipping around behind him. He set them down on the cashier’s desk with a thud, probably a little too hard.

 

“Find everything you need?” the cashier asked hesitantly.

 

“Yes,” Legolas sighed. “Sorry. My housemate’s just being an ass and gone and pushed all my buttons.”

 

“We all have those days,” the cashier said, taking the candles and scanning it. “These are buy two get one half off, do you want to go get one more?”

 

He paused, then, shrugging, walked back to the display where he’d found the candle. Gimli was still standing there, scowling at something, but Sam and Frodo had left. Legolas grabbed a third candle, an Ocean breeze scent he’d rather liked, all the while completely ignoring Gimli. He returned, paid for the candles, and made to leave the store, looking for Frodo and Sam. Gimli caught up beside him. Legolas glanced at him, then stuck his nose in the air and lengthened his stride.

 

“Oi, will ye stop doing that, you’re like an elf running off on those long legs!”

 

“Would that make you a dwarf?” Legolas quipped, but he slowed his pace. A little.

 

“Stuff it, you,” Gimli growled. “I’m sorry, alright?”

 

“Oh, sorry, didn’t catch that,” Legolas said, cupping a hand to his ear.

 

“Don’t make me take it back,” Gimli snapped. “I’m sorry for raggin’ on you about the stuff you’re buying.”

 

“Good,” Legolas said. Then: “Where did Frodo and Sam go?”

 

“Somewhere, said they were tired of us bickering.”

 

“I’m tired of us bickering,” Legolas grumbled.

 

“Eh?” Gimli asked.

 

“Nothing,” he answered. “Right, I’ve still got a few people to buy gifts for, and you’ve not gotten anything for anyone at all. Where do you want to go?”

 

“Eh?” Gimli repeated.

 

Legolas stopped, adjusting the bags to one hand, then with the now empty one, he grabbed Gimli’s hand, making him stop walking. “Where do you want to go?” he repeated.

 

“Uh…” Gimli said.

 

“Okay, how about, who do you want to get a gift for first?” Legolas tried.

 

“Uhhh…” Gimli said again.

 

Legolas blinked at him. “Do you have any plans at all?”

 

“Uhhhhh…” Gimli said finally.

 

“Ugh!” Legolas groaned, then started off again, holding Gimli’s hand firmly in his own. “Fine.”

 

“Fine, what?” Gimli said. Legolas glanced at him, then wished he hadn’t; Gimli was blushing.

 

“I’ll help you!” Legolas said. “We’ll start with family. Both your parents still alive?”

 

“Yes!” Gimli said, sounding rather affronted. “‘Course they are, they’re not that old!”

“My mother died young,” Legolas said. “You can never know.”

 

“Oh,” Gimli said. “Sorry.”

 

“Siblings?” Legolas asked, trying to keep moving.”

 

“A younger sister.”

 

“Right then. We’ll start with them, then move on to extended family and friends.”

 

“I have a lot of extended family,” Gimli said. “Like, a lot.”

 

“Yes, but how many of them are you getting gifts for?” Legolas asked. “Don’t answer now, we’ll get there eventually. Let’s just start with your mum; what kind of woman is she?”

 

“Well, she’s… um…”

 

“What’s her favorite color?” Legolas asked.

 

“I think purple,” Gimli said. “She wears it a lot.”

 

“Right, does she wear jewelry often?”

 

“Yeah, silver stuff.”

 

“Right then, what’s your budget?”

 

“Uh, I dunno?” Gimli said. “I mean, for my parents, I suppose I could get them some really nice things, but mostly I’d say at most thirty or so pounds.”

 

Legolas nodded, pulling Gimli towards the other side of the mall and a certain shop that sold plenty of lovely jewelry that wouldn’t cost hundreds of pounds. “That’s fine, you’ll compensate for spending more on your parents and your sister by spending less on others.” He pulled Gimli to the left, then turned into a store. “When’s your mother’s birthday?”

 

“Birthday?” Gimli repeated. “Why –”

 

“When is it?” Legolas sighed.

 

“February,” he said.

 

“Perfect!” Legolas answered. “Over here.”

 

An hour later, they’d successfully gotten gifts for all Gimli’s family, and Gimli looked rather pleased with himself. Legolas had finished his shopping as well, and the two of them were sitting in the food court sharing a plate of nandos when Sam and Frodo found them.

 

“You two look like a pair who can’t stand each other but have made up,” Frodo said, dropping down beside them.

 

“We’re done shopping for now if you two are,” Legolas said, ignoring the comment.

 

“We are,” Frodo said. “But seriously, did you make up?”

 

“He helped me pick out gifts,” Gimli said.

 

“Legolas,” Frodo said, “you’re in for it.”

 

“Sorry?” Legolas said.

 

“I’ve known him for fifteen years, and never once has he let me help him buy anyone gifts,” Frodo said. “So somehow, despite all the grumpiness, he must really like you.”

 

“Oh, shut it,” Gimli grumbled, but Legolas flushed.

 

“Let’s head out,” Sam said, then promptly yawned. “I’m beat.”

 

“It’s barely five o’clock, Sam,” Frodo said to him.

 

“Yes, but it’s Saturday, pet,” Sam said stubbornly. “I’m entitled to a long morning and a lazy evening.”

 

“Fine, fine,” Frodo said, sighing, “you want to finish those or take them to go or what?” he asked them, pointing to the nandos between them.

 

“I’m done,” Legolas said, pushing it towards Gimli.

 

“I’ll just chuck the rest then,” Gimli said, “I don’t want the rest of them either.”

 

Sam snatched a piece, then Gimli stood up and took their trash to the nearest bin. Legolas gathered up his bags, then Gimli appeared next to him and picked up several of them.

 

“You’ve got your own bags,” Legolas protested.

 

“It’s fine, I can help,” Gimli told him, picking up his own bags as if to prove his point. “See?”

 

“I can manage,” Legolas tried, but Gimli was already heading to the exit. He sighed and followed.

 

The car ride home was a little cramped with all the bags, but it was short; Sam was parked and cutting the engine some fifteen minutes later, and again, Gimli carried in most of Legolas’s bags.

 

“I’ll just leave this in your room, yeah?” Gimli asked.

 

“Drop yours off in your own first,” Legolas said.

 

Gimli just nodded. Legolas set the few bags Gimli hadn’t taken in a corner by the wardrobe, then sat down on his bed and waited. Gimli walked in a minute later, then set the bags with the others. He raised an eyebrow at Legolas, who got up, shut the door, and grabbed him in a kiss. Gimli shoved him against the wardrobe, as what inevitably happened every time they argued as much as they had that day happened yet again.


	9. nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Boromir attempts an intervention and then is intervened upon himself, Eomer gets a surprise, and Eowyn asks Faramir to a movie or something sometime

* * *

 

_i_

_Faramir_

 

Since he had stormed out of Eowyn’s room Saturday evening, Faramir had done a superfluous job of avoiding both her and her brother. In fact, he had managed to avoid everyone entirely.

 

He’d run away. His stealth skills, while magnificent where Skyrim was concerned, were not so good in real life that he could avoid 11 people for a week. He'd gotten in his car and driven off campus to where two of his friends lived; Haldir didn’t have much of a comfortable couch but Treebeard’s was the perfect size for him to sleep on. Treebeard, a fairly unconcerned soul in general, was gracious enough to not give a shit why Faramir felt the need to run off for a couple days or to mind that he was monopolizing the sofa, and as long as Faramir didn't mind any lingering traces of marijuana, the arrangement was a match made in heaven.

 

Until Thursday evening. Haldir came in without knocking, gave Faramir a grimace, then opened the door more fully to let in Boromir. Faramir dropped the cup of tea in his hands.

 

“Oi, that's expensive tea!” Treebeard said.

 

“Er, sorry,” Faramir mumbled. “What are you doing here?”

 

“Haldir called me,” Boromir said. He crossed to stand in front of Faramir, his hands shoved deep in his pockets and his eyes on the ground.

 

“Haldir – wait, what? How does Haldir have your number?” He pointed an accusatory finger at Haldir. “Did you snoop through my phone?”

 

“No!” Haldir said.

 

“Then how –”

 

“Never mind how I know Haldir,” Boromir snapped. “This is an intervention.”

 

“It is?” Treebeard asked. “Blimey, I’d’ve put on proper pants if I'd known we were going to hold an intervention.”

 

“Yeah, I've been meaning to talk to you about that,” Haldir murmured to Treebeard.

 

“Later, please?” Boromir asked. Haldir sighed, shaking his head at Treebeard’s state of dress.

 

“Why do I require an intervention?” Faramir asked stubbornly.

 

“Why wouldn't you, Faramir, have you looked at yourself lately?” Boromir snapped. “You've run off for no reason, you look like you've not showered since Saturday, you haven't been to classes in days, you look like some homeless stoner!”

 

Boromir paused, then glanced at Treebeard. “Er, no offense.”

 

Treebeard shrugged.

 

“I'm an adult, I'm allowed to take a few days off,” Faramir said.

 

“You're supposed to be an adult, but you're acting like a surly teenager,” Boromir said, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. “Seriously, Faramir, you weren't even this bad when Dad tried to kick you out for being queer!”

 

“Yikes,” Treebeard hissed.

 

“Can you not remind me?” Faramir snapped.

 

“What even happened?” Boromir asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

“Nothing,” Faramir said.

 

“He told Eowyn he fancied her,” Treebeard said.

 

“Oi!” Faramir gasped.

 

“Oops?” Treebeard shrugged.

 

“You've run off because you told Eowyn you fancy her?” Boromir repeated, sounding incredulous. “That's it?”

 

“Oh, don't judge me,” Faramir said sharply.

 

“No, I'm judging you,” Boromir said, “this is childish!”

 

“I mean, it's not like you have room to talk,” Haldir piped up.

 

Faramir’s head turned to gape at Haldir. Boromir scowled for a second at Faramir, then turned his glare and judging finger on Haldir.

 

“This is Faramir’s intervention,” Boromir said.

 

“No, no, I want to hear this,” Faramir said, waving Boromir’s words away with a dismissive hand. “What's his problem?”

 

“I – Erm – Well –”

 

“It's nothing,” Boromir snapped.

 

“Boromir fancies Eomer,” Treebeard said helpfully.

 

Three heads snapped to look at him. Haldir squeaked, Faramir’s jaw dropped, and Boromir only blinked.

 

“Treebeard!” Haldir hissed.

 

Treebeard shrugged again, holding his hands up in a comical but uncaring stance. “Oops?”

 

“That's the last time I ask your advice on a sensitive matter,” Haldir snapped.

 

“Boromir fancies Eomer?” Faramir repeated. But, Eowyn had told him that Eomer fancied Boromir…

 

“That's not the point!” Boromir squawked.

 

“You fancy Eomer!?” Faramir repeated twice as loudly. This had to be the most ridiculous situation on the planet.

 

“No!” Boromir shouted. “Yes! Maybe! That's completely opposite the point of this intervention!”

 

“Maybe you're the one who needs an intervention,” Faramir said. He deliberately decided not to mention that Eomer reciprocated Boromir’s feelings, thinking it would have a much more amusing result, considering that Boromir was straight.

 

“You're the one who hasn't showered for a week!”

 

“I showered two days ago, alright, I just didn't wash my hair!”

 

“Guys!” Treebeard shouted.

 

They fell silent. Treebeard never raised his voice. Treebeard pointed one finger at Boromir, then another at Faramir.

 

“The both of you clearly need an intervention,” he said. “Or, like, have a joint and just chill. You're dumping all your bad energy in my living room and I don't like it! So either quit shouting or take it outside!”

 

Faramir recoiled into the sofa a little. Boromir blinked again. Haldir covered his face with a hand.

 

“Thank you,” Treebeard said. “Now, first things first. Who the fuck is Eomer?”

 

“Eowyn’s older brother,” Faramir supplied.

 

“Okay, and why is that a big deal?”

 

“Because Boromir is straight!” Faramir exclaimed.

 

“I don't know what I am,” Boromir snapped. “Alright? Happy?”

 

“No,” Faramir said miserably.

 

“Okay. Alright.” Treebeard inhaled, then sighed heavily. “Boromir is confused sexually and Faramir is a chicken, that's established.”

 

“Hey!” Faramir snapped.

 

“Shh!” Treebeard snapped back. Faramir opened his mouth and Treebeard leaned over and pressed a finger over his mouth; Faramir jerked away from it and snorted a little, rather like a horse who's had its nose tickled. “The solution to these problems is simple.”

 

“They are?” Haldir said.

 

“Totally, mate,” Treebeard declared. “It's implementing them that's the hard part.”

 

“Oh,” Haldir muttered.

 

“Both of you have got to stop beating yourselves up over your respective issues and start handling them like adults, alright?”

 

“Says the pantsless stoner,” Boromir grumbled.

 

“Hey, I have earned my right to forgo pants in my own home,” Treebeard defended. “Plus, these boxers are silk, mate, they deserve to be seen.”

 

“You realize that your excuse is that you spent a lot of money on your underwear and therefore we have to be subjected to it,” Faramir posed, “which is basically the same as walking around in your lingerie.”

 

“Nah, mate, that stuff’s in still in the cupboard,” Treebeard said calmly, “besides, we’re discussing your issues.”

 

“Well, if you’re going to lecture us, I for one would not be able to take you seriously unless you put on pants,” Boromir said.

 

“Too bad, kiddo, welcome to the real world, people don’t just put on pants because other people want them to,” Treebeard announced.

 

Boromir looked at Faramir, his face flat and very irritated.

 

“Now, let’s start with Faramir, because you’re all settled in your sexuality and Boromir probably needs a lot of emotional consoling.”

 

“I don’t need consoling –” Boromir started, raising a hand in a dismissive gesture.

 

“Hush!” Treebeard snapped. Boromir made a face and dropped his hand. “Faramir, mate, do you have any reason to think that Eowyn would be mad about the fact that you fancy her?”

 

Faramir opened his mouth, then paused and shut it again. He thought about it, then said, sheepishly, “No.”

 

“So why are you so beat up about it?” Treebeard demanded. “You know her, hell, I know her after all the sappy shit you’ve presented in our class, she’s a gentle soul. If she doesn’t feel the same, she’ll be kind about it, you’ll get over it, it’ll be fine. If she does like you, then all the better, but you can’t know until you talk to her.”

 

Faramir scowled, but only because Treebeard was right and it made him feel like a prepubescent child over how Treebeard had explained it.

 

“There, see?” Treebeard said, patting his shoulder. “Now, Boromir.”

 

“No, no, I’m not taking advice from you,” Boromir said.

 

“Shut up and listen to him,” Haldir said.

 

“I still want to know why the two of you know each other,” Faramir grumbled.

 

“Boromir had sex with him on Halloween,” Treebeard explained.

 

“What?” Faramir burst out.

 

“Treebeard!” Haldir gasped.

 

“Will you all just stop discussing me?” Boromir demanded.

 

“No!” Treebeard said. “Now, same advice goes for you, with the addition that you know full well that Eomer’s not straight and pining for someone, and since he made out with Faramir here, he’s probably pining for you, savvy?”

 

“What,” Boromir said.

 

Treebeard sighed heavily. “I’m going to need another joint by the time this is over,” he grumbled.

 

“Wait, how do you figure that?” Boromir asked. “There’s no way you can know who Eomer’s pining over. How do you even know he’s pining for someone?”

 

“Logic,” Treebeard answered. “Plus, my grandmother was a psychic.”

 

“Those are probably mutually exclusive,” Faramir muttered.

 

“I think that’s cleared these things up,” Haldir said hesitantly.

 

“No, it hasn’t, I want to know about you and Boromir,” Faramir insisted. “How the fuck did that happen?”

 

“Can we not discuss this?” Boromir asked.

 

“We hooked up on Halloween, we were both drunk,” Haldir answered. “Then when he woke up the next morning and started a sexuality crisis, I coached him through it.”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me this?” Faramir asked his brother.

 

“‘Cause I was hoping it would go away,” Boromir muttered. “Or I’d get over it and never have to think of it again.”

 

“Boromir, the exact same thing happened to me! You knew that, I could have helped you!”

 

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to acknowledge it, and telling you would most certainly be acknowledging it.”

 

Faramir gaped at his brother. Boromir kicked lightly at the carpet, avoiding his gaze.

 

“Can we just go?” Boromir asked. “Faramir can take a shower and talk to Eowyn, alright?”

 

“No,” Faramir said. He steeled himself while Boromir dropped his jaw. Eowyn probably didn’t feel the same way about him as he felt about her, but Eomer fancied Boromir, and if he could turn this to his brother’s advantage, he’d risk it. “No, I won’t talk to Eowyn until you talk to Eomer.”

 

“What?” Boromir demanded.

 

“Seems fair,” Treebeard said.

 

“No, I am not talking to Eomer,” Boromir insisted.

 

“Then I guess I’m becoming a permanent resident, Treebeard, do you mind?”

 

“Nah, I like your cooking.”

 

“No, no, come on!” Boromir insisted. Faramir crossed his arms over his chest. Boromir groaned and looked to Haldir, who shrugged. “This isn’t fair!”

 

“Talk to Eomer, then,” Treebeard said. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

 

“He could laugh in my face!” Boromir suggested. “Or he could think I’m pulling his leg because he thinks that I’m straight! Or he could laugh in my face!”

 

“He’s not going to laugh in your face,” Faramir said.

 

“Do you believe that about Eowyn?” Boromir said. Faramir scowled. “See! It’s an irrational fear that has some basis in reason!”

 

“No, no it doesn’t,” Haldir murmured.

 

“Shut up, Haldir,” Boromir said. Haldir huffed.

 

“Alright,” Treebeard said, standing up. “I’m putting on pants.”

 

“Oh, dear,” Haldir muttered.

 

“What does that mean?” Boromir asked.

 

Treebeard was walking away already, however. “Haldir, get the dry shampoo.”

 

Haldir ducked into Treebeard’s bedroom behind him. They emerged again a second later, Treebeard finally wearing pants and Haldir holding an aerosol can and a hair brush.

 

“Faramir, hold your breath,” Haldir said, and before Faramir could react, Haldir was spraying him. Faramir coughed, batting at Haldir’s hands, then Treebeard appeared in front of him and grabbed him by the arms, wrestling him still. Haldir kept spraying, then started to brush out his hair. Faramir struggled, but Treebeard’s grip on his arms was vicelike.

 

“Cut it out!” he shouted.

 

“This is for your own good!” Haldir insisted.

 

“I’m fine!”

 

“No, you look like a homeless stoner,” Treebeard said, “and I am a stoner, so I should know.”

 

“It’s fine!” he tried to insist, then had to cough again as Haldir resumed spraying.

 

“Done!” Haldir announced a minute later. Treebeard released Faramir and he jumped off the couch to glare at them. He checked his hair in a mirror, but it looked fine.

 

“Let’s go,” Treebeard said.

 

“Where are we going?” Boromir asked.

 

“We’re going to your house,” Treebeard insisted. “So you can talk to your crushes.”

 

“I am not talking to Eomer!”

 

“You are, too!” Haldir insisted. Treebeard and Haldir grabbed Boromir by the arms and hauled him from the room.

 

“Lock the door for me, Faramir!” Treebeard shouted over his shoulder.

 

Faramir sighed. Boromir better appreciate what he was doing for him when this was all over.

 

_ii_

_Eomer_

 

Eomer had had a very long week. Eowyn was still sick and twice as miserable as before ever since Faramir had confessed to fancying her and then run off, which meant that he had to be miserable, and he really hated having to be miserable for so long in a row. By Thursday, he was ready to strangle Faramir himself, if the prat ever turned back up there. He hadn’t even seen him on campus in days.

 

He was in the kitchen heating up soup for his sister when the front door opened. Eomer looked up, expecting to see Boromir, who’d gone out in a rush earlier that evening, and instead was shocked to see a man with a very long beard and sunglasses walk in.

 

“Evening,” the bearded man said.

 

“What the fuck are you doing in my house?” Eomer said.

 

The man glanced around, then reached out and tugged on something. Boromir stumbled into the kitchen.

 

“Here!” the man said. “We held an intervention and decided it would be best if you two talked. Where’s Eowyn?”

 

“What?” Eomer said. “She’s downstairs. Why? Who are you?”

 

“This is Treebeard,” said Faramir’s voice. Eomer leaned to see Faramir cowering in the doorway, another stranger standing behind him. Wait. The blonde man was familiar, and now that he thought about it, Eomer recognized that beard.

 

“Do I know these people?” Eomer asked.

 

“We met at a party about a month ago,” Treebeard said helpfully.

 

“Oh, yeah,” Eomer said. He didn’t remember that. “Uh… who’s the other guy, again?”

 

“Haldir,” Boromir grumbled.

 

“Anyway, Faramir has to talk to Eowyn," Treebeard said. “I’ll leave Haldir with you to make sure Boromir doesn’t run off. Toodle-oo!”

 

“Why would Boromir run off?” Eomer asked. “Why do we need to talk? I’m confused.”

 

“It’s a long story,” Faramir said. Treebeard tugged on his arm, pulling him towards the stairs. Eomer stared after them, then looked at Boromir and raised an eyebrow.

 

“What the fuck?” he said.

 

“I agree,” Boromir sighed. Haldir nudged Boromir in the arm. Boromir waved him away, but Haldir nudged him again. “Will you cut it out?”

 

“What’s going on in here?”

 

Eomer looked around; Aragorn had just walked into the kitchen, and he was frowning at both of them.

 

“We had an intervention,” Haldir said.

 

“Who are you?” Aragorn asked.

 

“Friend of the brothers Stewards,” Haldir answered. “Here to ensure Boromir doesn’t run off and actually talks to Eomer.”

 

“Why does he have to talk to Eomer?” Aragorn asked.

 

“Yes, this is something I, too, would like to know,” Eomer asked.

 

“I don’t actually have to talk to you,” Boromir said. Haldir elbowed him, and Boromir let out a hiss of pain, clutching his ribs. “Haldir!”

 

“I’ll say it if you don’t,” Haldir said.

 

“Say what?” Eomer asked.

 

“I fancy you, alright!” Boromir snapped.

 

Eomer blinked at him. Boromir scowled at the floor. Haldir bowed to them both, then left the house. Eomer continued to blink. Aragorn backed out of the kitchen and disappeared into the basement. Eomer simply blinked.

 

“Are you going to say anything?” Boromir asked sharply, avoiding his eyes.

 

“Uh,” Eomer said.

 

Boromir huffed, nodding, then started to walk away. “Yeah, I figured. I’m just going to go, we can pretend this never happened, it’s just a stupid crush –”

 

Eomer grabbed his arm and pulled him around to face him, then abruptly kissed him.

 

After a second, he pulled back. Boromir blinked at him.

 

“I fancy you back?” Eomer said.

 

“Oh,” Boromir murmured.

 

“Do you want to go back to my room and snog?” Eomer asked.

 

“Yes,” Boromir said hastily, then blushed. Eomer grinned.

 

_iii_

_Eowyn_

 

There was a knock at her door, and Eowyn hastily paused Netflix. “What?” she called out.

 

“Delivery!” a foreign voice announced. Eowyn frowned. Arod lifted his head to look at the door.

 

“Come in?” she said a little questioningly.

 

The door opened and a man with a very long beard stepped into the doorway. Arod bared his teeth and barked.

 

“Hello, doggo,” the man chuckled. “I bring thee one Faramir Stewards.”

 

The bearded man pulled Faramir into the room, then gave him a little shove and shut the door on the two of them. Arod immediately dropped his head onto Eowyn’s knee again, apparently satisfied with scaring off the intruder.

 

“Uh,” Faramir said.

 

“Hi?” she tried.

 

“Sorry,” Faramir said, stepping forward a little. “I, um, I shouldn’t have run off on you like I did. It was a pretty dick move.”

 

“I mean, a little,” Eowyn said.

 

“Are you feeling any better?” he asked.

 

“Some, yeah,” she said. “I can pronounce _s_ ’s and _th_ ’s properly, so…”

 

“Good,” Faramir said, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking at anything but at her. “Good.”

 

“Um,” she said.

 

“Uh,” he muttered.

 

“Have a seat?” she said.

 

Faramir sat, but he kept the chair a good distance from her bed.

 

“I was thinking –” Eowyn began, just as Faramir started: “You know, I was wondering –”

 

“You first,” Faramir said.

 

“No, it’s fine, you can go first,” she tried.

 

“No, really, you first,” he said, looking at his feet.

 

“Well, I was thinking,” she started over, then bit her lip and looked down at Arod. The dog blinked at her, then raised a paw and bopped her on the nose, which wasn’t very helpful. “I was thinking, maybe when I’m better, we could – wecouldgoseeamovieorsomething?”

 

“Sorry?” Faramir asked.

 

“Uh,” Eowyn started. “We could go see a movie? Or something?”

 

Faramir opened his mouth, blinked, then shut it and frowned. “Like, a date?”

 

Eowyn blushed and looked at Arod. “I mean, yeah, if you’d like to.”

 

“Are you – do you –”

 

“I like you,” she cut him off. Faramir flushed. “I think you’re very sweet and handsome and I’d like to date you, yes.”

 

“Oh,” Faramir said. “Wow.”

 

“Is that a yes?” she asked.

 

“Yes, yes, it’s a yes,” Faramir said hastily.

 

“Great!” Eowyn said, grinning. Then she blushed again, and added: “I’d, uh, I’d kiss you, but I’m still sick, so…”

 

“Perfectly understandable,” Faramir said. “Uh…”

 

“Yeah,” she murmured.

 

“So…”

 

“Do you want to watch Star Trek with me?” Eowyn asked.

 

“I’d love to,” Faramir said, smiling.

 

“Great,” she said, and unpaused Netflix.

 

A few minutes later, there was another knock on the door. Eowyn paused again, looking up and saying: “What?”

 

It opened and Aragorn stuck his head in the room. “I thought you should probably know, Boromir and Eomer are currently snogging in the kitchen.”

 

“Really?” Eowyn said.

 

“Took them long enough,” Faramir said, smiling. Eowyn snorted.

 

“Really,” she repeated. Aragorn shook his head for a second, frowning at them both, then pulled his head out and shut the door. Eowyn glanced at Faramir. He grinned, she giggled, and Arod gave a half-hearted bark. They both jumped, looking at the dog, who just snorted, and then began to snore.

 

“I love your dog,” Faramir said.

 

“He’s precious, isn’t he?” Eowyn sighed. “Did you know if Boromir liked Eomer back?”

 

“Not earlier, but I found out this evening,” Faramir said. “Apparently Boromir spent the night with my friend Haldir on Halloween and then had a sexuality crisis.”

 

“Yeah, I did wonder about that,” Eowyn said. “But at least they’re together now, I was getting tired of Eomer moping.”

 

“I guess it explains why Boromir’s been so moody lately as well,” Faramir mused.

 

“Honestly, I thought that was just his personality,” Eowyn said.

 

“No, he’s normally quite cheery.”

 

Aragorn opened the door again. “Update, they’ve left the kitchen and I think they’re going to Eomer’s room.”

 

“Okay, we don’t need any more updates!” Eowyn said.

 

“I just thought you should know,” Aragorn said, ducking out and shutting the door. Eowyn _tsk_ ed and shook her head.

 

“He must be an only child,” Faramir said.

 

“No kidding,” she grumbled. She unpaused the episode, settling back against her pillows. A minute later, Faramir’s hand slid into hers, and she smiled to herself.


	10. ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Gimli is forced to bake, Sam does not like string lights, and Merry dislikes anything named Douglas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _unfortunately it's only september, which means that it's pre-halloween month, but this lot are early with their christmas shenanigans. have some feels and sign up at a recruiting station near you for this year's skeleton war. have a good weekend!_

* * *

 

_i_

_Gimli_

 

Normally, Christmas had Gimli very excited and full of cheer, however, normally, he was not surrounded by besotted couples who kept grinning smittenly and eye-fucking each other (minus Merry and Pippin who were thankfully disinterested in besottedness).

 

Normally, he was not constantly reminded of dastardly attractive French blondes who only liked him when he, the French blonde, was horny.

 

Normally, Gimli didn’t care that said French blonde turned said snotty nose up at him, normally, it didn’t eat away at him when the French bastard scoffed and scorned him, normally, it didn’t hurt when said French snooty self-absorbed little wanker floated by in all his perfect airs with his bloody beautiful lips sipping hot cocoa and his luscious blonde hair smelling like bloody Christmas itself!

 

The besotted couples weren’t just getting to Gimli. He was doomed.

 

“Who’s going to help make cookies?” Arwen announced to the house at large. Gimli was attempting to focus on destroying a hoard of zombies, and did not answer. “Guys, seriously, I’m making Christmas cookies and if none of you help, I won’t share a bloody crumb!”

 

Gimli heard Eowyn’s voice next: “I’ll help you, love, it’s alright.”

 

He heard Arwen sniff. “Thank you.”

 

Gimli vaguely wondered if Aragorn had returned from the store with Arwen’s tampons yet. Then he wondered why Arwen always baked during that time of the month.

 

Then a figure stepped in front of the TV and Gimli let out a shout and tried to lean over to see past it, but he was already dead. “Come off it, what was that for!” he shouted. He looked up at the person’s face.

 

Legolas scowled at him. “You’re on cookie duty.”

 

“I’m what?” Gimli repeated.

 

Legolas threw a pillow at him and Gimli deflected it with an arm. “Cookie duty, did you not hear? Boromir and Eomer are helping Sam and Frodo with the decorations; Faramir, Merry, and Pippin are getting the tree, Aragorn’s grocery shopping, so you are on cookie duty with the rest of us.”

 

Gimli scowled back at Legolas, then picked up the pillow and chucked it back at him. Legolas batted it away and it hit the floor with a thump. “Why’ve I got to do anything at all?” he asked indignantly.

 

Legolas made a face and lifted his eyes, then mouthed numbers up to ten before looking Gimli in the eye again. “Because we are all participating in Christmas shit and Arwen said you’d be allowed to lick the bowl.”

 

Gimli leaned to the side and directed a confused expression at Arwen. Arwen waved a hand at him, gesturing for him to approach. He exaggerated his confused expression. Arwen glared and drew a finger across her throat. Gimli raised an eyebrow. Arwen glared, pointed at Legolas, pointed to the kitchen behind her, then jabbed a finger at Gimli. Gimli had no clue what the fuck that meant, but Legolas threw another pillow at him so he had no choice but to get up. Obviously, he had no choice because of the pillows. It was the pillows. It wasn’t like he disliked Legolas scowling at him so hard or anything.

 

Obviously.

 

In the kitchen, Gimli dropped onto the single barstool they had and crossed his arms over his chest before fixing his lips in a scowl and glaring at the linoleum floor, muttering about how it was only the first Saturday of December. His scowl became a frown for a second as he contemplated when the last time anyone had mopped the kitchen was.

 

Arwen abruptly dropped a heavy book onto his lap and Gimli had to fumble to catch it. “We begin!” she announced, complete with unnecessary dramaticism.

 

“What are we even making?” Eowyn asked, armed with a rubber spatula.

 

“Christmas cookies!” Arwen insisted. “Gimli, find the recipe.”

 

Gimli glanced at Eowyn, who shrugged at him. He looked at Legolas, who looked away. He scowled again. Arwen prodded him in the temple with a wooden spoon.

 

“Fuck off,” Gimli snapped. Arwen prodded him again. “What?”

 

“The recipe?” she said.

 

“What recipe?” he demanded. “Christmas cookie isn’t very descriptive!”

 

“Gingerbread, sugar, snickerdoodle, what?” Legolas asked.

 

“Sugar,” Arwen said, slumping against the counter to pout. Eowyn patted her shoulder comfortingly.

 

Gimli set the recipe book on the counter while Legolas googled sugar cookie recipes, still scowling at the floor. It really needed mopping. He was positive that it had been vaguely white in August, but by then it had turned sort of yellow.

 

“We need flour, sugar, eggs, butter, salt, vanilla extract, and baking soda.”

 

“Thank you,” Arwen said, and set about finding ingredients.

 

“Can we make brownies too?” Eowyn asked.

 

“When we’re done with the Christmas cookies,” Arwen said from the pantry. “We’ve only got one electric mixer.”

 

“I want brownies,” Gimli muttered to himself.

 

“I want wine,” Legolas said miserably.

 

“What’s your issue?” Gimli said sourly.

 

“Never you mind,” Legolas snapped, and turned his back on him. Gimli scowled at him, his mood so terrible he couldn’t even ogle Legolas’s ass.

 

“Alright, I’ve had it!” Arwen shouted and Gimli looked up. Okay, maybe he was able to ogle Legolas’s ass in a bad mood. Arwen slammed a bag of flour onto the kitchen counter, causing a thin white cloud to poof into the air and settle over the counter, then jabbed a scolding finger in Legolas and Gimli’s directions. “You two, make up.”

 

“Make up what?” Legolas asked dryly.

 

“I don’t know, but stop being cross with each other!” Arwen said. Then she sniffed. “Your bad vibes are messing with my bad vibes and if I cry, it’s your fault!”

 

Eowyn patted Arwen’s shoulder again. “There, there.”

 

“Thank you,” Arwen said in a sigh. “Now, you two, whatever’s got you both so fussy, have it out and hash it out so we can bake cookies and be happy.”

 

“There’s nothing wrong with us,” Gimli said stiffly. “I can’t stand him, but that’s normal.”

 

“Oh, sure,” Legolas grumbled.

 

Arwen snatched up her wooden spoon again. “I will hit you,” she threatened.

 

Gimli shrugged. Arwen whacked him in the shoulder, however, the blow was half-hearted. Arwen glared at him, then at Legolas. “What’s your problem, then?”

 

“I haven’t got a problem,” Legolas said.

 

Arwen raised an eyebrow.

 

“Fine, I’ve got a problem,” Legolas grumbled.

 

“Good, baking is therapeutic. Start talking, and give me the recipe.”

 

Legolas let out a groan, but he gave his phone to Arwen, who gave it to Eowyn, who sighed and went in search of the rest of the ingredients. Legolas then lifted his lanky frame onto the counter and propped his chin on his hand, glaring at the refrigerator as if it had personally offended him.

 

“I was supposed to go to my grandparents for Christmas,” Legolas started.

 

“Did your dad interfere?” Arwen asked immediately.

 

“Yes!” Legolas exclaimed frustratedly. He grabbed Arwen’s wooden spoon and jabbed it the air expressively. “He bought them plane tickets so they’d have to go to France instead of us all going to their house, and I specifically told him I wanted to stay in England this year.”

 

“Your dad lives in France?” Gimli said.

 

Legolas turned a hateful expression of disbelief on him. “Duh,” he said venomously.

 

Gimli scowled again. Arwen waved a hand at him, clearly trying to get him to shut up. Gimli scowled harder.

 

“Did you specifically say you wanted to stay in England or did you tell him that you wanted to see your grandparents?” Arwen asked Legolas.

 

“Hey, where’s the vanilla?” Eowyn asked.

 

“Moment!” Arwen snapped.

 

“Geez, sorry,” Eowyn muttered.

 

Legolas was also scowling. “I said I wanted to see my grandparents.”

 

“Did you actually want to stay with your grandparents or was it someone else you wanted to stay near to?” Arwen asked.

 

Gimli looked up sharply as Legolas’s cheeks filled with pink. “Of course it was because I wanted to stay with my grandparents!” Legolas snapped.

 

“Then why’s it such a problem that your grandparents are now going to your dad’s house in France instead of your dad going to your grandparents’ house in Glasgow?”

 

Gimli half perked up as a wild tale started in his head over which side of Glasgow Legolas’s grandparents lived on and whether or not it was near the area where his family lived, before hastily trying to think of something else.

 

Legolas hadn’t yet answered Arwen, however, and Eowyn had just set the vanilla on the counter.

 

“We’re ready,” she said.

 

Arwen prodded Legolas’s leg. “Think about it,” she said, then turned to check the recipe.

 

Gimli found himself staring at Legolas’s knees, his mind focused on what Arwen had said. Why would Legolas be so irritated about his Christmas plans if all that had changed was that his grandparents would be going to his dad’s instead of his dad going to his grandparents? Gimli gave himself a shake and looked away; he had no business being upset about Legolas’s Christmas plans. Legolas could do what he wanted for all Gimli could care. Gimli could care less.

 

Technically the phrase was couldn’t care less, and just as technically Gimli cared rather a lot, but that wasn’t the issue.

 

“So, we’ve got to beat the sugar and the butter,” Eowyn was saying. “But the butter’s hard because it’s cold.”

 

“That’s not usually the case,” Legolas said. Eowyn shot Legolas a glare.

 

“Should we melt the butter or just let it get soft?” Arwen asked, apparently ignoring Legolas.

 

“Melt it, no one likes flaccid butter,” Legolas announced.

 

Eowyn and Arwen gave Legolas equal death glares. Gimli sniggered, and Legolas smirked.

 

“You’re horrid,” Arwen declared, and put the butter in the microwave.

 

“Raise your hand if you think I’m truly horrid,” Legolas said sardonically.

 

Arwen stuck her hand up, as did Eowyn, though she wasn’t paying much attention. Gimli abruptly recalled where he was and what the prompt entailed and stuck his hand up.

 

“Put your hand down, Gimli, you’re besotted with the oaf,” Arwen sighed, smacking at his hand.

 

“I am not!” Gimli snapped.

 

Legolas was blushing again.

 

“You are too, and you’re a terrible liar,” Arwen said with a tone of superiority.

 

“You’re daft,” Gimli declared, and Arwen made a face at him.

 

“So are you, since you’re in love with this fool,” Arwen told him.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Gimli insisted.

 

“Methinks the bloke doth protest too much,” Eowyn commented.

 

“Oh, give it a rest,” Legolas snapped. “We all know he only likes me for my arse.”

 

“It’s a wonder, since you’ve got so little of it,” Arwen said.

 

Gimli opened his mouth, realized that he’d about to protest to _Legolas’s_ statement, then shut it again and blushed. Legolas glanced at him and then looked to the ground, his face becoming blank. Gimli felt embarrassed and tried not to look at him.

 

“Why’s this mixer not turning on?” Eowyn said, and the moment was over. Legolas leaned over and flicked a switch, and the paddle of the electric mixer suddenly started spinning. Eowyn let out an “Aha!” and started adding the sugar and butter into it.

 

An hour or so later, the four of them had taken the last batch of biscuits from the oven and Arwen had dismissed them, saying that they didn’t have to decorate the cookies and that her uterus was doing gymnastics or something. Gimli returned to his game, though he still felt rotten, and for a moment, Legolas simply stood outside the kitchen, looking at nothing and frowning at everything.

 

“What do you want?” Gimli asked.

 

Legolas opened his mouth, then shut it again hastily. He shook his head. “Nothing.”

 

Gimli paused the game. “Are you really so worried about your Christmas plans?”

 

Legolas opened his mouth again, said nothing, and just shrugged. Gimli felt awful. In sympathy, of course. Not just because Legolas looking so dejected made his gut clench.

 

“What are you doing for Christmas?” Legolas asked, dropping onto a poof.

 

“What?” Gimli said.

 

“What are your plans for Christmas?” Legolas repeated. Gimli blinked at him. Legolas blinked back. Gimli glanced at the TV screen, then let out his breath in a steady stream and shrugged.

 

“I’ll be going up to my parents’ place, I guess,” he said. “Probably have to drive Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin.”

 

Legolas nodded, his face tilted towards the ground. Gimli wanted to do something to make Legolas feel better, but he had no clue what was truly bothering him or even how to make it stop bothering him. Instead, he picked up the TV remote and switched to Netflix.

 

“You wanna watch a movie?” he asked.

 

Legolas shrugged. Gimli patted the space next to him, and though he hesitated, Legolas got up and crossed to join him. He sat a few inches away from Gimli, but even that minuscule space made Gimli feel like it were miles. Legolas leaned against the arm of the couch, and Gimli leaned against some pillows, and they didn’t lean against each other. It was horrible.

 

“Something cheesy and happy?” Gimli asked.

 

“Sure,” Legolas said flatly.

 

Gimli found something Christmassy and played it, but he kept glancing at Legolas every few seconds.

 

“Y’know, my cousins are going to come and stay here for a couple of days before and after Christmas,” Gimli said, not even sure why he was saying it. “They’re at Cambridge, Fíli and his fiance Ori, and Kíli and his girlfriend are at Lothlorien College, and since Manchester’s a couple hours from both of those and the whole family lives much farther north, they’ll be driving up here after their last day of the year and then we’ll all go up north to Ravenhill the next day – it’s about an hour south of Glasgow.”

 

“Yeah?” Legolas said quietly.

 

“Yep. Then the day after Boxing Day, we’re all driving back down here and celebrating New Years together, before my cousins’ head back to Cambridge and Lothlorien.”

 

Legolas nodded, his eyes on the ground. Gimli looked back at the TV. He wasn’t even sure of what he’d been trying to accomplish by talking to Legolas about this.

 

“My grandparents and I will be flying out of Glasgow Airport the Sunday after term ends,” Legolas said.

 

Gimli glanced at him. “Well, I’ve got enough seats in my truck for one more. I could drive you up to them.”

 

Legolas looked at him, and for the first time all day, the two of them locked eyes. Gimli felt suddenly very small and insignificant in the blueness of Legolas’s eyes, and Legolas slowly smiled.

 

“I’d really appreciate that, Gimli,” Legolas murmured.

 

Gimli grinned back at him. “It’s no trouble. Happy to help out… er…”

 

He’d been about to say _a friend_ , but Gimli wasn’t sure what their relationship was. Then Legolas suddenly leaned in and kissed his cheek, and Gimli forgot all about it. He blushed, hard, and looked back at the TV, where the main characters were snogging already.

 

“Sure, sure,” Gimli muttered.

 

_ii_

_Sam_

 

“Why the everloving fuck,” announced Eomer, “is this attic already full of shit?”

 

Sam looked up from the box he’d been digging through, attempting to find his polar bear snow globe, then shrugged at Eomer.

 

“I mean,” Eomer said as he stepped over a plastic bin full of someone’s clothes, “we’ve been living here only a few months! How do we, as adult millennials who are prone to minimalism and not hoarding, have so much junk already that our attic is full of all this shit?”

 

“I brought all my holiday decorations from home,” Frodo shouted from the other end of the attic.

 

“Yeah, and I think Merry bought a homebrew kit then dumped it up here,” Boromir added.

 

Eomer leaned down and lifted a canvas cloth that was draped over Merry’s homebrew kit. “I can tell it was second hand.”

 

Sam stopped digging again and frowned to Eomer. “How?”

 

Eomer threw the canvas away and pointed to a large sticker stuck to the side. “Because Merry has very little interest in nearly nude 50’s pin-up girls.”

 

“True, true,” Sam said, returning to his digging. “Aha!” He pulled the little box containing the snow globe out from underneath a pair of Wonder Woman boxers and shoved the box back towards the wall, only in an afterthought closing it back up. “I’ve got my snow globe, I’m ready for Christmas.”

 

Frodo gave Sam a look displaying his unamusement. “Help me find the lightbulb tester for these, then,” he called, gesturing to the mass of string lights in a box by his left leg.

 

“I’ll never understand why you insist on using string lights that are 84 years old and half dead instead of spending five quid to get another set that works perfectly,” Sam muttered, dropping onto the ground and grabbing a box to dig through.

 

“Well, because I’ve got about ten or fifteen strands of lights here,” Frodo answered, “and because I’m stingy.”

 

“Those are mutually complicit,” Boromir said.

 

“That’s not a phrase,” Frodo protested. Boromir shrugged.

 

“Who on earth has this many sweaters?” Eomer abruptly called.

 

“Are they all turtlenecks?” Boromir asked without even looking up.

 

“Half of them, yeah.”

 

“They’re Faramir’s, then. Put it by the ladder and I’ll take it down to his room.”

 

“Why does he need so many turtlenecks?” Eomer grumbled, but he put the box by the door.

 

“Do you think we should do silver and blue or red and gold?” Frodo asked the room at large. Sam shrugged, still looking for the bulb tester.

 

“For what?” Boromir said. “Wedding colors or a contrast between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor?”

 

Frodo threw a plastic bauble at him; green, so apparently it was moot, anyway. “For the decorations, fool, we’ve got to have a consistent theme.”

 

“Rainbow,” Eomer called out. Sam lifted up a strand of multi-colored lights and shrugged.

 

“I mean, yeah, but that’s not Christmas and it’s got too many factors,” Frodo answered, “an aesthetically pleasing display can’t have more than two or three factors to it, otherwise it’s too chaotic.”

 

“If you make Christmas decorations into a math equation, Frodo Baggins,” Boromir said with a scolding finger wagging in Frodo’s direction, “I will eat your peppermint bark and I will enjoy it!”

 

“You hate white chocolate!” Frodo protested.

 

“So do not ruin the spirit of Christmas with arithmetic!” Boromir punctuated his statement with a nod, then tossed the green bauble back to Frodo, who caught it and pouted.

 

“He has a point, love,” Sam said.

 

“Don’t you start,” Frodo warned.

 

Eomer held up a pair of felt antlers and a stick-on red nose with an overdramatic shrug. “You could do silver and gold, like the song?”

 

“Silver and gold,” Sam sang, “silver and gold, everyone wishes for silver and gold.”

 

“Claymation gave me nightmares as a child,” Frodo said.

 

“You got nightmares from watching Oxi-Clean ads on daytime TV,” Boromir pointed out.

 

“The Oxi-Clean man was always unnecessarily loud!” Frodo exclaimed heatedly.

 

Sam patted his elbow. Frodo stuck his middle finger up at Boromir, who responded very maturely by sticking out his tongue. Sam clucked at both of them, then found the lightbulb tester. Frodo said something else about color schemes while Sam grabbed the box of string lights, set the tester inside it, and put it by the ladder with Faramir’s sweaters.

 

“I like silver and blue,” Boromir said.

 

“I like red and gold,” Eomer countered.

 

“I think you’re daft,” Boromir told him.

 

“I think you’ve got a beautiful arse,” Eomer retorted.

 

“That’s not even remotely relevant,” Boromir said snobbishly.

 

“It’s true,” Eomer reminded him.

 

“Its trueness is irrelevant,” Boromir said. “Irregardless.”

 

“Irregardless is redundant,” Frodo said, examining a silver bauble.

 

“You’re redundant,” Eomer said.

 

“I would be if I had a twin,” Frodo said with a sigh, and set down the bauble. “But alas, I ate him in the womb. I’m doing silver and blue.”

 

“Did you really have a twin that you ate in the womb?” asked Eomer, but Frodo didn’t answer, as his head was buried in a box of garlands and tinsel. Eomer huffed and snatched up Frodo’s phone, saying: “I’m going to call your mother and ask her.”

 

“Can’t,” Frodo said dryly.

 

“I can too,” Eomer said as he unlocked Frodo’s phone; Frodo really should have changed his passcode from his birthday a long time ago. “Calling her now.”

 

Boromir covered his face with a hand, his face drawn. Sam sighed and shook his head. Frodo must have thought this was very amusing, he thought, as Sam’s phone began to ring. Sam picked it up and answered it, then looked at Eomer and said: “Hello.”

 

Eomer jerked the phone away from his ear and gaped at Sam. “That’s not fair!” he said.

 

“Sam took over as my mother about six years ago,” Frodo said with a shit-eating grin; he was amused, much too amused for this joke that got old years ago. “My actual mother died when I was ten.”

 

“Oh,” Eomer said. He hung up and dropped Frodo’s phone into a box of festive linens. “Sorry.”

 

“I keep saying he ought to rename my contact,” Sam sighed, “since we’ve been dating now for three years, but apparently, my primary role in his life is as his mum.”

 

“And such an excellent job you do of it,” Frodo quipped.

 

“Have you done your homework yet?” Sam asked.

 

“I take that back,” Frodo said.

 

“I have a question,” Boromir said.

 

“That’s a redundant statement,” Eomer said.

 

“Do you even know what redundant means?” Sam snorted.

 

Boromir ignored them both. “Are just sitting up here doing nothing while Frodo sorts through baubles?”

 

“Pretty much,” Eomer said, dropping down onto Faramir’s bin of sweaters. He put on the antlers and stuck the Rudolph nose to his face, which lit up and started twinkling.

 

“Hold still,” Boromir said, whipping out his phone. Eomer held up a peace sign, and Boromir took a picture of him. “That’s going in the family album,” he said, quite pleased.

 

“Ooh, are we scrapbooking next?” Eomer asked with false excitement. Sam leaned back and dug out a pack of stickers and construction paper from a box behind him. “Geez, I wasn’t serious,” Eomer said with a snort. Sam rolled his eyes and dropped them back into the box.

 

“Frodo, did you empty out your uncles’ attic and bring everything here?” Boromir asked.

 

“I most certainly did not,” Frodo said, not pausing in his task of sorting the baubles. “I brought only my things.”

 

“How crowded is your uncle’s attic?” Eomer asked in disbelief.

 

“Wall to wall boxes,” Sam answered. “Most of it’s Bilbo’s, Thorin doesn’t do much hoarding.”

 

“It’s not hoarding it’s being prepared,” Frodo corrected.

 

“For scrapbooking at any moment?” Eomer asked.

 

“Scrapbooking is a very calming hobby,” Frodo answered him with his nose stuck in the air.

 

“Damn,” Eomer chuckled.

 

“Alright, I’ve got everything set out,” Frodo announced. “We need these five boxes, plus the ones by the ladder.”

 

“This is a lot of shit,” Eomer remarked.

 

“There’s linens and crockery, two boxes of tree decorations, and two boxes of general decorations,” Frodo told him.

 

“It’s still a lot of shit,” Eomer said, but he grabbed a box and started down the ladder to the main floor of the house. Sam grabbed the box full of garlands, tinsel, ribbons, and strings of beads and followed. It took another trip back up the ladder to get the last of the boxes, but in a few short minutes, they were all standing in the living room with all the boxes and the ladder leading up to the attic folded up and the trapdoor closed.

 

“Tree things stay in here until Faramir and the terrors return with the tree,” Frodo announced. “I’ll put away the linens and crockery when that lot are done with the biscuits,” he added, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder to the kitchen, where Arwen was currently swatting Gimli with a wooden spoon to keep his fingers out of the biscuit dough. “Eomer, you put the wreaths on all the doors and windows downstairs, Boromir, you get the windows and doors on this floor, Sam can help me with putting string lights on the front steps.”

 

“Why’ve we got to put wreaths on all the doors?” Eomer whined, even as he took a bunch of wreaths and hooks to spread out on the basement bedroom doors and windows.

 

“It’s festive, Eomer,” Frodo said, complete with air of snobbishness.

 

“Just go with it,” Boromir said, clapping Eomer on the shoulder. Eomer huffed, then stole a kiss from Boromir and left for the basement. Boromir, blushing, set about putting the wreaths on the first floor.

 

“Well,” Sam said with a heavy sigh as he contemplated the many, many tangled strands of Christmas lights. “We definitely have our work cut out for us.”

 

Frodo lifted the box and raised his eyebrows at him. “But in the end, it’s going to be pretty as shit, so who cares?”

 

With that, Frodo made his way outside. Sam sighed again, and followed his boyfriend.

 

_iii_

_Merry_

 

“... thirty-two bottles of eggnog on the wall, thirty-two bottles of eggnog!”

 

“Will you shut up about eggnog!” Faramir shouted.

 

“Take one down, pass it around!” Pippin sang as he ignored Faramir.

 

“I told you not to turn the radio off,” Merry said to Faramir.

 

“I can’t drive and read directions and have a million ads blasting my eardrums all at the same time,” Faramir snapped.

 

“Thirty-one bottles of eggnog!”

 

“I swear to God, I _will_ turn this car around and dump you in that ditch back there if you don’t shut up!” Faramir shouted at Pippin.

 

Pippin, his seatbelt completely disregarded, flopped sideways onto the bench and huffed. “But now there’s an uneven number of eggnog bottles on the wall.”

 

“Frankly, I don’t give a shit about eggnog,” Faramir sighed. “Just… shut up.”  


Pippin huffed again. Merry pulled his fingers out of his ears and relaxed into his seat. Faramir turned the car left, and Merry sat up again, spotting the tree farm in the distance.

 

“Check it out, Pip,” he said. “Six varieties of fir trees to choose from.”

 

“We always get a Douglas fir, though,” Pippin answered, “so what does it matter?”

 

“It matters because I can’t stand Douglasses,” Merry said haughtily.

 

“Are you still pissed about Douglas Herrigan?” Pippin asked suspiciously.

 

“I wouldn’t blame him if he was, Doug Herrigan was an awful person, worst boyfriend he ever had,” Faramir said distractedly, pulling into a parking space.

 

“I am very much still pissed about Herrigan, fool of a Took,” Merry said over his shoulder before he unclipped his seatbelt and opened his car door, getting out before Faramir even had a chance to put the parking brake on.

 

“He cheated at a game of laser tag, Merry,” Pippin called after him. “Lazer tag!”

 

“Laser tag is something I take very seriously!” Merry retorted before shutting his door with a swift hand, and, sticking his nose in the air, stomped off to find a tree that wasn’t a Douglas fir.

 

“Laser tag is very serious, Pippin,” he heard Faramir say; the engine was cut off and two doors opened before shutting again. Pippin ran up beside him and shoved his hands into Merry’s jacket pockets.

 

“I told you to bring gloves,” Merry reminded him. Pippin shushed him and he rolled his eyes in response.

 

The farm owner directed them to a vast patch of trees near the back, promising that none were Douglas firs. Merry walked with Pippin clinging to his arm so he could shelter his freezing fingers in Merry’s pockets, with Faramir just ahead of them, pausing every so often to examine a tree. They couldn’t have one that was too tall, there was actually regulations on how tall of a tree they were allowed to have in their house, and despite the fact that their RA had willingly allowed them to have a dog in the house, a tree over two meters was out of the question.

 

Merry suspected that Galion just really liked dogs.

 

“How’s this one?” Faramir asked after twenty minutes of searching.

 

“It’s a bit poofy on the bottom,” Pippin commented.

 

“Aren’t we all a bit poofy?” Faramir asked with a sigh.

 

“Well, yes, but it’s not uniformly poofy,” Pippin countered.

 

“I like it,” Merry said.

 

“I’m frozen, let’s get this one and go,” Faramir said.

 

“Fiiiiine,” Pippin sighed. “Is it within the height limits?”

 

Faramir stretched a little, then shrugged. “It’s, like, 10 centimeters taller than me, so probably.”

 

“Should’ve brought Boromir,” Merry said, “he’s two meters on the dot.”

 

“Oh, bully for Boromir,” Faramir sighed, looking around for the attendant who’d been following them the entire time. “We’ll take this one!”

 

“I still think it’s unevenly poofy,” Pippin muttered as Faramir and the attendant started to cut down the tree.

 

“It gives it character,” Merry assured him.

 

“A Douglas fir would be less lumpy,” Pippin pointed out.

 

“And more likely to stab you in the back when you least expect it to,” Merry said with an insistent nod. Pippin rolled his eyes, so Merry stuck his tongue out at him. Pippin responded by leaning up and kissing the tip of his tongue, which caused Merry to snort in surprise, horse-like, and jerk backward. Pippin giggled.

 

“Are you two done being twelve-year-olds or are you going to help us?” Faramir called. Merry abandoned Pippin’s cold hands to help Faramir and the attendant lift the tree up. Together, they carried it back to the front, where another attendant helped them feed the tree through the machine that covered the tree in a net to keep all the branches contained, and Faramir paid the grumpy looking farm owner while Merry, Pippin, and two attendants strapped the tree to the top of Faramir’s minivan.

 

Back in the car, Merry in the back as it was Pippin’s turn to ride shotgun, Pippin asked: “So, anyone up for eggnog?”

 

“No eggnog!” Faramir shouted, and they drove off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _silver and gold, silver and gold, everyone wishes for silver and gold! oh, uh, ahem, i mean, THIS IS HALLOWEEN, HALLOWEEN, HALLOWEEEEEEEEEEN!_


	11. eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Aragorn easily enters pissy moods, Pippin and Merry are the picture perfect couple thank you very much, and Boromir and Eomer discuss their favorite colors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _please note that i am an american citizen and any information i have on the english system of criminal procedure came from the internet. also pls note that i am not a law student and all information in general came from the internet pls forgive any mistakes law experts._

* * *

 

_i_

_Aragorn_

 

The process of an advanced course in prosecuting criminal law involves rather a lot of tediousness and several coffee-fueled hours of textbook examinations. Typically, one would not expect a class period for an advanced course in prosecuting to contain very many high emotions. Typically, one is not directly involved in an example case presented in video format by the professor of what not to do to get the bad guy behind bars. Typically, one is not Aragorn son of Arathorn, who was murdered by the infamous mafia leader Sauron purely for the fact that Arathorn was a detective trying to figure out why the owner of a small grocery store was first murdered.

 

“In this case, Sauron was represented by Sir W. K. Angmar and the prosecution was represented by Halbarad Grey, who unfortunately wasn’t experienced enough to go head to head with Angmar,” Professor Smith droned on. “In the end, Angmar won the case by convincing the jury of the possibility that Detective Elessar committed suicide, thereby proving the prosecution’s case was weak. Officially, of course, Detective Elessar’s cause of death is still murder, and there’s no doubt that Sauron did, in fact, kill him, but even when he was tried again three years ago with new evidence, he was acquitted.”

 

Typically, one does not sit in the back with their teeth clenched and their fingers gripping their pen so hard that the plastic of the pen was straining. But that was exactly what Aragorn was doing.

 

“Sauron was brought forth on the charges of murder in the first degree, but the prosecution’s evidence on said murder was circumstantial at best; they had no DNA evidence, no fingerprints, and the gun used in the murder was Detective Elessar’s own gun.”

 

Aragorn wanted to just get up and leave, abandon the class period completely rather than watch Angmar charm the jury into accepting his version of events all over again. He could only be grateful that the video did not show Sauron himself, in his smart suit with his smug grin, with all the confidence of a mafia leader who knew that he would get off scot free.

 

“Now, I want you to watch closely on Angmar’s wording here.”

 

Aragorn did not watch closely on Angmar’s wording then, as he could remember word for word practically everything bloody Angmar had ever said, since _he had been fucking there._

 

“Watch how Halbarad stutters there. I cannot stress this enough, when you are in front of a jury, you must always be the picture of perfect composure, see, Angmar uses it against him here.”

 

Aragorn shut his eyes rather than watch Halbarad’s sentence tremble. Halbarad had been great friends with his dad, the man got emotional. It should have been criminal for Angmar to criticize a second’s stuttering.

 

“And here’s the prosecution’s second mistake. They put the victim’s 17-year-old son on the witness stand, watch here, the boy gets provoked easily when Angmar brings up the possibility that Detective Elessar shot himself instead of –”

 

Aragorn shoved his notebook and pen into his backpack. The professor had stopped mid sentence, pointing to the projector screen at the face of a five years younger Aragorn Elessar, and abruptly flicked through the papers on their desk to most likely find the attendance sheet and the name Aragorn Elessar. Aragorn swung his bag onto his shoulder and shoved back his chair.

 

_“He shot my dad in my own [bleeped] living room!”_

 

Aragorn slammed the door on his way out as the professor abruptly shut off the video.

 

“You try not getting provoked easily when someone suggests you got confused about who murdered your only parent,” he hissed under his breath as he left.

 

Aragorn was set in the sort of mood that discolors one’s whole day and leaves one easily pissed off by anything and everything within reach. He got pissed off when the elevator doors shut just as he arrived. He got pissed when he went to take the stairs and saw that they were closed for repainting. He got pissed when he finally reached the ground floor and he had to wait for a tour of high school students to clear the exit doors. He drove home in a pissy mood, parked his car in a pissy mood, unlocked the front door in a pissy mood.

 

He stopped in the middle of the kitchen in more of a _what the fuck is this_ mood than a pissy one, however.

 

“Hullo,” Arwen said with a weary smile, stood with her back to the counter and a vast mess on the floor in front of her. She was apparently trapped, as there was broken glass everywhere and her feet were bare.“Think you could spare a moment to help me?”

 

“Why is there broken glass and vomit on the floor?” Aragorn asked in response. "Where's Arod?"

 

“It’s not vomit, it's cake batter,” Arwen sniffed. "Arod's in Eomer's room, fast asleep. Bugger never even barked when I dropped the dish."

 

Aragorn raised his eyebrows at her. Her shoulders drooped and she scowled a little. “I’ve got butter on my hands,” she said, holding them up. “It slipped out of my hands while I was trying to put it in the oven.”

 

Aragorn sighed and dumped his backpack at the front door and opened the pantry to find the mop. Leave it to Arwen’s PMS-induced baking to shatter a glass pan of unbaked cake batter on the floor on the day he was asked to study the case of his own father’s murder.

 

“Thank you,” Arwen said heavily, as Aragorn stepped around the pile to stick the sponge end of the mop under water.

 

“Is no one else here?” Aragorn asked; he pulled a lever on the mop’s handle, causing it to squeeze the excess water from the large sponge, then swung it around to drop it on the floor. It landed with a squelch and he began to mop.

 

“No,” Arwen sighed. “I thought that Faramir would be getting out of class around now, but you’re the first back.”

 

“Yeah, well, I walked out of class,” Aragorn muttered. The glass screeched, scraping the linoleum as he pushed it all into a pile in the middle of the room. “How’d you think you were going to get out of this?”

 

“Well, I was just going to wait until Faramir got here or climb over the counter. Why’d you walk out?”

 

“Professor wanted us to study an example of what not to do in court,” Aragorn muttered. “Used my dad’s murder case.”

 

“Oh,” Arwen said.

 

“Yeah,” he grunted. He grabbed the dust pan from the pantry and pushed the pile of glass and cake batter into it, scooping it up and dumping it into the waste bin.

 

“Didn’t they know –”

 

“That it was my dad who got murdered and my dad’s killer that got off because Halbarad’s voice trembled once and Angmar claimed it was because the fucking police were trying desperately to pin something on Sauron, who was merely a simple importer of Russian vodka?” Aragorn snapped; he hit the mop against the floor a little too hard and watery batter splattered the floor. “Only after Professor Smith pointed out that the prosecution’s second mistake was to put an easily provoked teenage boy on the witness stand where Angmar could poke holes in his statement and add further evidence to the _Arathorn Elessar was a poor, depressed bastard_ pile.”

 

“Oh, love,” Arwen whispered.

 

Aragorn wrung out the mop in the sink, then paused and let out his breath in a heavy sigh. Then he turned and tried to look at her, but only ended up staring at her toes. There were still spots of batter and a few shards of glass by her feet.

 

“Aragorn,” Arwen murmured. He didn’t look up, but he nodded. “Have you considered –… Have you ever thought about how this is draining you?”

 

“What do you mean?” he asked, raising his eyes.

 

“You hate law,” she said quietly. “You’ve hated it ever since you started. This… I hate to say it, love, but it’s draining you dry. You’re barely a person anymore, you’re just this husk of a student who’s spending his every waking moment trying to defeat something that’s already gone.”

 

Aragorn looked away and yanked the mop out of the sink; he let it slap against the floor and mopped up the last bits of batter and broken glass, getting Arwen’s toes wet in the process. He wiped up the last bits with a paper towel and threw it in the trash, then took the mop outside to prop up against the side of the house on the porch to dry. When he walked back inside, Arwen was still standing in the corner.

 

“This is why your dad keeps telling you that you shouldn’t stay with me,” Aragorn said abruptly. Arwen’s expression turned stony. “I can’t let this go. I’ll have to be a husk of a student until I’m a husk of a lawyer and stay that way until I’ve put my father’s death right.”

 

Arwen strode forward and snatched his hands in her own. “Love, you know what happened. The people that mattered to Arathorn know what happened. Hell, my own father knows the truth! Everyone knows that Sauron did kill him and –”

 

“And he got off!” Aragorn snapped. “I have to prove that he did it!”

 

Arwen pressed a hand to his face. “Even if it kills you in the process?”

 

Aragorn pulled his hand from her grip and lifted her other hand from his cheek. “That’s why we keep arguing. You’d be better off without me.”

 

“I’m not asking about me,” Arwen said.

 

“I have homework,” Aragorn murmured, pulling away. He picked up his bag and started towards the basement, pausing when Arwen spoke again.

 

“Your dad wouldn’t have wanted you to spend your whole life a husk.”

 

“Well, I don’t know what my dad would’ve wanted for my life, Arwen,” Aragorn said. “Seeing as the last time I talked to him I told him to go to hell, and then he got shot.”

 

He fled the first floor and locked his bedroom door behind him. Aragorn dropped his bag onto the bed, then for a long moment just stood there, staring at nothing while Arwen’s words repeated in his head.

 

He was drained.

 

Aragorn collapsed into his desk chair. He’d been draining for five years, since the moment the verdict had come back _Not Guilty._

 

_ii_

_Pippin_

 

Pippin highly regretted taking Chemistry by that time. Lab periods were _horrible_ , and not even because he kept accidentally causing small explosions.

 

“... so I told Rosie that she was being a bitch, because she was getting so mad about me accidentally flirting with her boyfriend, which, might I say, was flirting with _me_ before I flirted with _him_ …” Celia Bolger was saying.

 

Pippin made eye contact with Merry across the lab station. Merry mouthed a few obscenities. Pippin then shifted his eyes to the back of Gandalf’s head, and imagined that whoever he was assisting at that time was about to accidentally mix water up with their sodium and add that to their potassium instead.

 

That wasn’t very likely. It was more likely that Celia, who’d imprinted on them the moment she realized they were in her class, would realize that neither Merry nor Pippin could stand her and hadn’t been able to since she accidentally-on-purposefully ripped the seat of Pippin’s pants while on stage back in a year two production of the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. (Pippin and Celia had both been trees. Merry had been an unnamed faun.)

 

“Oh, and did I tell you that Lotho tried to convince me to go with him to this dance at Bag-End for Christmas?” said Celia.

 

“No,” Merry sighed. “Did you measure out the sodium?”

 

“I told him no, of course, I’d rather not be seen with Lotho Sackville-Baggins, the poor sod’s still morose over the fact that Annabelle Proudfoot married Billy Chubbs.”

 

“Aren’t we all,” Pippin muttered dryly to himself, taking the liquid sodium from her to measure it himself.

 

“Mhmm, it was such a shame, Annabelle’s so pretty, and Billy Chubbs is – Well, he’s Billy Chubbs!”

 

“I always thought Billy was a grand old bloke,” Merry said sharply.

 

Celia laughed and Pippin wished he could mix up the sodium with water and add it to the potassium sitting right in front of her horrid, pinched sneer. “Well, I s’pose it is hard to find a man who’s both funny and good looking.”

 

Then she turned a smirk on Merry. “‘Course, you’re not so bad, so maybe it’s not that hard.”

 

“You haven’t seen him before his coffee,” Pippin told her quite calmly. “Of course, that’s always the best time to get a good tumble in the sheets out of him, so I s’pose you’re right.”

 

Celia did a very poor job of disguising the fact that she had automatically wrinkled her nose at his words, and an even poorer job of pretending to smile sweetly. “Oh, I hadn’t realized you two were still a thing.”

 

“Yup,” Merry said. “Can you please give me the potassium so we can do the experiment?”

 

“But you don’t, like, act like a couple,” Celia said, only half-heartedly pushing the potassium towards Merry. Merry and Pippin exchanged looks again. Pippin cursed the fact that the class had an odd number of people, and thus, they’d be stuck with the third partner in the form of Celia Bolger.

 

“So what?” Merry asked her with exasperation. “Are we required to behave to your standards of a couple? Do you want us to make out in the middle of class or spend all our time making doe eyes at each other?”

 

“No,” Celia said defensively. “But, I dunno, you don’t seem like a happy couple, at least.”

 

And then the bitch had the gall to actually flutter her eyelashes at Merry. Pippin gaped at her. Merry pushed a non-breakable beaker of water from the last experiment to her. “Here, why don’t you add the potassium to the sodium?” he asked Celia patiently.

 

Pippin did his very best not to abruptly smile and took a step back. Celia huffed and as Merry copied Pippin’s step back, she cut a wafer thin slice of the potassium from the small chunk they’d been given, then, using a pair of long prongs, dropped it into the clear inch of water. Thanks to lab protocol, they were all already wearing safety goggles when the water and potassium exploded violently.

 

Celia screamed, flinging the tongs away from her as she jumped back. Merry and Pippin did their best not to high five each other, and Professor Gandalf came running over.

 

“I told you to make sure you did not combine the potassium and the water, Miss Bolger!”

 

“I – I – I –” Celia stammered.

 

“Class is ending early,” Professor Gandalf shouted, “and you, young lady, will write me an essay on lab protocols!”

 

On their way out, Merry and Pippin high fived.

 

“We don’t act like a couple, my arse,” Merry said triumphantly and flung an arm around Pippin’s shoulders. “Did you see the look on her face?”

 

“Priceless,” Pippin sighed.

 

“Karma’s a bitch,” Merry declared.

 

“Indeed,” Pippin chuckled.

 

_iii_

_Boromir_

 

“So…”

 

“So…”

 

Boromir and Eomer sat opposite each other at a small round table, two cups of tea between them and a small plate of biscuits. The cafe around them was full and bustling, quiet instrumental music playing in the background, the loudest patrons being a group of slightly younger college students in the corner discussing literature.

 

“So…” Eomer repeated, smirking a little.

 

“I’m very unskilled at first dates,” Boromir admitted. “Erm, especially considering… Well.”

 

“Oh, it’s fine,” Eomer answered him. “It’s not every day one finds out that they’re queer, I don’t mind that you took your time before asking me out.”

 

“As I recall, you’re the one who asked me out,” Boromir said.

 

“I think my exact words were something along the lines of _“Since you’ve got your hand down my pants would you like to get a coffee or something sometime?’_ ” Eomer corrected, to which Boromir blushed furiously and took a great gulp of tea, and Eomer smirked some more. “It was only fair.”

 

“My hand wasn’t exactly down your pants,” Boromir mumbled, but he was also smiling. Just a little. “More like… removing them.”

 

“Details,” Eomer said. He propped his chin on his hand and gazed at Boromir, who blushed again. He was doing rather a lot of blushing lately. “What’s your favorite color?”

 

“Beg pardon?” Boromir asked.

 

“Your favorite color,” Eomer said again.

 

“Er, blue,” Boromir answered.

 

“Why?” Eomer asked.

 

Boromir thought about it. “I dunno,” he said. “I’ve just always said that it was blue.”

 

“Then is it really your favorite color?” Eomer asked him.

 

Boromir thought about it some more. “I dunno?” he said. “I really like sunset colors.”

 

“Do you prefer red sunsets, orange sunsets, or pink?”

 

“Orange and pink.”

 

“There,” Eomer said, smiling softly. “That sounds like a favorite color.”

 

“What’s yours, then?” Boromir asked. He propped his chin on his hand, copying Eomer.

 

“A light, olive green,” Eomer answered.

 

“Why?” Boromir asked.

 

“Because that was what my bedroom was painted when I was a kid,” he told him, a gleam of nostalgia entering his hazel eyes.

 

Boromir considered for a moment and wondered if hazel was also a favorite color of his.

 

“And because a witch once told me that was what color my aura was,” Eomer added.

 

“A witch?” Boromir repeated in a laugh. “Where did you meet a witch?”

 

“She was my neighbor for eighteen years,” Eomer said matter-of-factly. “Used to babysit us kids until we got old enough that we could babysit each other. Sometimes, she’d bring us round to the woods to collect wild herbs and funguses.”

 

“Fungi,” Boromir corrected, smiling.

 

“I am, thank you,” Eomer said, grinning.

 

Boromir gave a snort. “How’d you end up with a witch for a neighbor, then?”

 

“She and her wife moved in when I was four,” Eomer said honestly.

 

“But how’d you get a witch!” Boromir repeated as he laughed. “That’s a very specific line of work that one does not simply walk into.”

 

“One can simply walk into anything,” Eomer told him.

 

Boromir laughed again.

 

“Seriously,” he asked.

 

“Well, according to Mrs. Samuels, witchcraft is not very hard to get into,” Eomer said, with an air of telling some grand, ancient legend. “Also, I never asked.”

 

“Must have been an interesting babysitter,” Boromir said.

 

“Oh, yeah,” Eomer agreed. “One Halloween, my uncle went to a party, so she and her wife took us trick-or-treating, and then read us our fortunes. That’s when she told me that my aura was a light olive green.”

 

“And what did she say was your fortune?” he asked.

 

“I don’t remember,” Eomer said. “I was seven.”

 

Boromir snorted and Eomer grinned, clearly quite pleased with himself and the story of his neighboring witch babysitter.

 

“Was her wife a witch as well?” Boromir asked as he raised his cup of tea to his lips.

 

“No, she was Catholic.”

 

Boromir snorted into his tea, coughed, and set it down to simultaneously grin and glare across the table. Eomer smirked, clearly twice as pleased now with the story of his neighboring witch babysitter and her Catholic wife.

 

“Enough about me, what about you?” Eomer asked. “Who babysitted you when you were a kid?”

 

“Mrs. Thomassen, who wasn’t a witch, that’s for sure,” Boromir said, stilling chuckling, “but she was Catholic. My dad hired her on as a housekeeper slash nanny when I was about eight, after he and my mum got divorced. She was horribly strict, and never took us trick-or-treating because she said it was Satanic.”

 

“Sounds dreadful,” Eomer said.

 

“It was,” Boromir chuckled. “My mum took us trick-or-treating for a while, but then she moved to America with her new husband when I was about fourteen, and by then I was old enough to take myself and Faramir on our own, so Mrs. Thomassen never needed to.”

 

“Do you still see your mum?” Eomer asked abruptly. “I remember back at the beginning of the year, you said you’d never been to America.”

 

“No, I haven’t been, but she comes round here for Christmas and birthdays,” he answered. “Most years, at least, this year she’s staying over there. She just had a kid, little girl, and six-month-old babies do not do well on planes,” he added with a chuckle, then on a second thought pulled out his phone and unlocked it. “I’ve got pictures.”

 

“Cute,” Eomer said as Boromir swiped through a couple of pictures of his infant half-sister. “Are you and Faramir going to America this year, then?”

 

“No,” Boromir said, putting his phone away. “Mum’ll be coming for Faramir’s birthday in March, though.”

 

“Oh,” Eomer said.

 

Boromir shrugged. “We’ll just spend Christmas here.”

 

“What?” Eomer gasped, a little dramaticism in his voice. “You can’t spend Christmas alone! Not even Aragorn’s staying here for Christmas, he’s going with Arwen. Why aren’t you at least going to your dad’s?”

 

“Our relationship with our dad’s not the greatest,” Boromir said, shrugging again but this time with a little less calm resignation and a little more long-suffering desolation. “At this point, it’s an improvement that he pays for our uni expenses.”

 

“Does this have something to do with the fact that you have a platinum card from him and Faramir has a regular credit card?” Eomer asked with a furrowed brow

 

“Quite a bit,” Boromir sighed. “He tried to disown Faramir when he came out as bisexual, except he decided that the legal fees to do so were too much.”

 

“Shit, dude,” Eomer muttered.

 

“Yep,” Boromir murmured.

 

“I’m sorry,” Eomer said, and Boromir shrugged again, giving him an _it’s okay_ smile.

 

“I buy Faramir lunch almost every day with dad’s platinum card, so Faramir considers it even,” Boromir joked, making Eomer smile. “That and a few other things. Gas, toothpaste, turtlenecks.”

 

Eomer snorted, grinning, and Boromir smiled. He was highly besotted with Eomer’s snort of laughter.

 

“He does have rather a lot of turtlenecks,” Eomer sniggered.

 

“Sends all the ladies and gents running, apparently,” Boromir quipped, and Eomer laughed again.

 

“Boromir, my dear,” Eomer began, and Boromir blushed yet again, “do you realize that we are having a very interesting and enjoyable conversation, that started completely on the question _“What is your favorite color?’_ ”

 

Boromir thought about it. “You’re right,” he murmured.

 

Eomer reached across the table and took his hand. “See, you’re not so bad at first dates after all.”

 

Boromir smiled.

 

"Why don't you and Faramir come with us for Christmas, then?" Eomer asked. "So you won't be all by yourselves? We're heading back to my uncle's farm."

 

"That sounds like an excellent idea," Boromir said, grinning.

 

"It's a date, then," Eomer said, and Boromir lifted Eomer's hand to kiss the back of his knuckles. When he looked up, he saw that it was now Eomer who was blushing. It suited him, Boromir thought.


	12. twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Frodo supervises the rise and fall of the demon of christmas, Faramir is biased, and Legolas doesn't know what to do, but does anyone really?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _okay so i realize that it's been like a month and a half since i last updated, but i have a good excuse alright i had some major assignments due in october and i was in a play last weekend and i just started a second job. october was full of lots of shit, i had a birthday and spent most of it working on my play. but i'm eighteen now, so whoo new chapter, happy halloween, happy samhain to my fellow witches in the northern hemisphere, happy beltane to my witches in the south. i have had v little sleep in the past month. yay adulthood college and other assorted shit_

_i_

_Frodo_

 

“Oh, Christmas tree, oh, Christmas tree!” Pippin sang, horribly off key. “How lovely are thy branches!”

 

“I will actually clobber you to death if you don’t stop,” Merry shouted.

 

“Rude,” Pippin sniffed, but stopped singing. Frodo could have kissed Merry.

 

“Thank baby Jesus,” Sam whispered to the heavens. Or, really, to the ceiling.

 

“Rude!” Pippin shouted, then proceeded to grab a pillow and start clobbering Sam with it.

 

Frodo looked at the tree that they were meant to be decorating as if it were the camera and they were on the Office.

 

“Fuck you guys, seriously,” he sighed heavily. Pippin tackled Sam and sat on him victoriously. Gimli and Boromir, who were both sat on the couch being useless, stopped their valiant efforts to not laugh, and both guffawed loudly. Legolas gave Frodo a pitying look, Arwen raised both middle fingers and walked out, Faramir shook his head, and Eowyn gave Pippin and Sam a disapproving look.

 

“I should have made popcorn,” Eomer said sadly.

 

“We’re not putting popcorn strings on the tree,” Eowyn snapped at him.

 

The living room of their house was in total chaos. There were baubles scattered everywhere, tinsel was hanging from the ceiling fan, Pippin had somehow managed to burst the pillow he’d been attacking Sam with and so now there were even bits of fluff scattered all about the floor. Even Arod looked displeased with the mess that had become their tree decorating party.

 

“Can we all take this seriously?” Frodo half shouted.

 

“Grrmph!” Sam shouted from underneath Pippin.

 

“That would take half the fun out of it,” Pippin protested.

 

Legolas chucked a bauble at him. “And it would actually get this bloody tree decorated, you little shit!”

 

“Oi, only I get to call him a little shit!” Merry declared.

 

Legolas rolled his eyes pointedly, and Arwen walked back in holding a plate of biscuits. Frodo made grabby hands at her, and she plopped down next to him and offered him one. Frodo hummed gratefully and Arwen patted his hair. Beside them, Sam made another strangled noise, then managed to land a punch on Pippin’s shoulder and knocked him off. Sam scrambled up, ran around behind Frodo, and dropped down to hide behind him, shouting “SAVE ME!”

 

“How am I going to protect you?” Frodo asked incredulously.

 

“Oh, no, not you, Arwen,” Sam said.

 

Frodo shrugged and continued to eat his biscuit. Arwen smirked, her mouth still full from the biscuit, but flipped Pippin the double bird. Pippin pouted.

 

“Are we decorating the tree or not?” Legolas asked. At that point, he was the only one standing by the tree even attempting to decorate it.

 

“Alright, come on,” Eowyn clapped her hands together, “we are here to decorate this tree and we’re going to fucking decorate it if it’s the last thing we do!”

 

Faramir looked up at her. “Since when are we dying?” he demanded.

 

“Since two seconds from now if you lot don’t get started,” Eowyn said threateningly.

 

Faramir got up off the floor and started gathering up baubles. Frodo sniggered. Eowyn pointed a finger at him with a serious expression on her face, so Frodo let out a squawk and ducked to hide behind Arwen.

 

Arwen raised her arms, a biscuit in each hand, and declared: “These are my children and I will protect them from the Demon of Christmas.”

 

Eowyn scowled for a second, then broke down and snorted. “I’ll take it,” she said, and thus, the Demon of Christmas was born. “Up!” Eowyn shouted, grabbed a pillow in each hand, and started hitting the others with them. “Get up!” She whacked Pippin over the head and nearly knocked him over. “Decorate!”

 

“Certainly acts like a demon,” Eomer muttered, then Eowyn hit him with both pillows and knocked him clean off the poof he was sat on. Boromir laughed and pointed, but quickly stopped when Eowyn chucked a pillow at him and it hit him square in the face. Gimli jumped off the couch, albeit laughing as he did, and joined Legolas at the tree.

 

“Excellent,” Legolas said, shoving a tangle of lights into Gimli’s arms. “Untangle these so I can string them on the tree.”

 

“We’ve already got lights on the tree!” Gimli protested, but started untangling the lights. “How many lights do we have to have on it?”

 

“More than two strands,” Legolas insisted. In the background, Eowyn continued attacking those not helping with the tree with pillows. Faramir snatched the last stray bauble off the floor and ran over to hide behind the tree.

 

“We’re decorating, we’re decorating!” Merry exclaimed, only to let out an _Oomph!_ and fall over as Eowyn thumped him heavily over the head with the pillow. “Bloody hell!”

“We should probably help them,” Frodo said to Sam.

 

Sam grabbed another biscuit. “They deserve it. We brought all that crap down anyway.”

 

“Fair point,” Frodo admitted, and took another biscuit.

 

“These are my biscuits,” Arwen protested stiffly. Frodo shrugged a little carelessly and bit off the head of his gingerbread man.

 

One of Eowyn’s pillows escaped her hands and landed on Arod, who huffed, got up, and trotted over to plop in front of Arwen, dropping his slightly slobbery muzzle onto her lap. She patted his head and fed him a bit of biscuit, which he ate before licking her knee in gratitude.

 

“Who put these lights away?” Gimli complained loudly from by the tree.

 

“Merry,” Frodo said automatically.

 

“What?” Merry shouted, then dodged Eowyn’s pillow. “You egg!”

 

“Ooh, I’ve been stabbed,” Frodo said dryly, then flopped onto the floor. Arod sniffed his face, then licked him, which made Frodo wince.

 

“Why’ve you been stabbed?” Pippin asked.

 

“It’s from Macbeth,” Frodo answered, but then Arod licked his mouth and he had to roll away spluttering. Merry and Pippin laughed at him, and Frodo waved his middle finger in their direction.

 

“Just! Help! With! The! Tree!” Eowyn shouted, bringing her pillow down on Pippin’s head once again.

 

“Abandon ship!” Pippin responded, and, jumping up, he ran down to the basement.

 

“Take me with you!” Merry shouted, and ran off after him.

 

“Bloody cowards!” Eowyn yelled at their retreating backs.

 

“Fuck you!” Merry shouted from the basement.

 

A door slammed. Eowyn huffed and dropped her pillows onto the sofa, apparently exhausted her resources of Christmas demon energy. “I give up,” she said wearily.

 

“Now’s our chance,” Eomer said abruptly, and he and Boromir sprinted, laughing, off to Eomer’s room, slamming the door behind them.

 

“Well, fuck you guys too!” Eowyn shouted after them.

 

“We’re still here,” Faramir said in an attempt to be helpful.

 

Eowyn huffed again and flopped onto the sofa following the pillows, crossing her arms and pouting. “Bloody fools,” she said, very huffily.

 

Faramir crept closer to her and patted her shoulder gingerly. “There, there,” he said. Eowyn gave him a look of sheer scorn, one eyebrow slightly raised, the other lowered, her lips firmly curled downwards. “Just a thought,” Faramir said, and slunk back into the shadows of the tree from whence he came.

 

“I should make pot biscuits,” Arwen said, musingly as she stared at a biscuit in her hands, abruptly.

 

Frodo looked at her, looked at the biscuit in his hand, frowned, and said: “Please inform me if you do, I do not like weed or similar substances.”

 

“Sure thing, love,” Arwen said, then sighed and got up. “I’m going to abandon you as well, I’ve got to try and seduce Aragorn out of wallowing in his self-pity hole.”

 

“Bye, good luck,” Frodo called after her. She took the biscuits with her, however, so Frodo got up and wandered into the kitchen to get more. He filled up a plate and walked back to the living room to continue supervising the decorating of the tree.

 

Gimli had had some success in detangling the string lights, and he and Legolas had trussed up the tree with them by then. Sam had joined them at the tree, as had Eowyn, and by then they were hanging the baubles instead of throwing them, as well as other various decorations.

 

“Excellent work, minions,” Frodo announced. “Work on, work on!”

 

Sam raised a single eyebrow at him. “Are you going to help or are you just going to supervise?” he asked sarcastically.

 

“Obviously I’m just going to supervise,” Frodo answered, then dropped himself onto the sofa and beckoned Arod to join him. “Someone’s got to ensure you stick to the color scheme.”

 

“We have a color scheme?” Gimli asked incredulously. Legolas dropped a plastic blue bauble on his head, which bounced off of his sloppily braided hair and clattered to the floor. Gimli gave him a dark look, to which Legolas responded by quite maturely sticking out his tongue.

 

“It’s silver and blue,” Sam answered Gimli, as Gimli stuck his own tongue out and Legolas shoved it back into his mouth with a finger. Gimli spluttered and coughed as Sam added: “Because somehow, more than two colors makes it off-putting.”

 

“It does,” Frodo answered, “silver and blue on a background of green is enough color for a tree.”

 

Sam pointed to Frodo, eyebrows raised as if that proved his point. “Aesthetics is a whole new branch of math.”

 

Legolas, who seemed very fond of the bouncing qualities of the baubles, flicked one at Sam, which bounced off his nose and set Sam’s expression in a scowl. “Don’t drag aesthetics through the mud by applying math to it,” he said snobbishly.

 

“It kind of _has_ to have a little bit of math,” Frodo protested.

 

“Don’t sully its good name!” Legolas protested.

 

“It’s like, the most basic arithmetic!” Frodo insisted.

 

Legolas threw a bauble at him. It landed on the sofa and rolled onto the ground fruitlessly.

 

“Nice job,” Frodo said. Legolas scowled, and Frodo tossed it back to him, to which Legolas promptly chucked it back at him, managing to make it sail past Frodo’s left ear, bounce off an open door, and roll down the basement stairs. They all stared at it for a long moment.

 

“Even nicer job,” Frodo quipped.

 

“Shut it, you,” Legolas grumbled, and started stringing the baubles on the tree rather than throwing them.

 

“This is the true meaning of Christmas,” Gimli decided.

 

“Throwing baubles at each other until they’ve all vanished or broken?” Sam asked dryly.

 

Gimli flicked a bauble at him. “Precisely. It’s a never a proper Christmas until you’ve had to break up a bauble fight.”

 

“Aren’t they meant to be snowball fights?” Faramir asked in a sigh. “I mean, seriously, what if you’ve got extra fancy baubles that are, like, made of glass?”

 

“You don’t buy glass baubles,” Gimli answered with a shrug. “Common sense.”

 

Legolas rolled his eyes, for about the four hundredth time. Faramir shook his head gravely.

 

“Why’s there a bauble that says _fuck you_ in glitter?” Eowyn asked. Gimli leaned on tiptoes to peer over her shoulder at it, before giving a snort. “I don’t get it,” Eowyn added, looking around.

 

“Gimli’s cousin made that for him,” Frodo said with a heavy sigh.

 

“Not the cousins coming for Christmas?” Legolas asked.

 

Sam frowned at him. “How do you know the cousins are coming for Christmas?”

 

Legolas, incredibly, blushed, and Gimli busied himself with something at the very back of the tree. “Gimli, er, offered to let me tag along when you head up north, I’m taking a plane with my grandparents from Glasgow to visit my father in France.”

 

“But he’s already going to have Fíli, Kíli, Ori, and Tauriel in his truck,” Sam asked. “And you can only squeeze three people in the back if they’re either very skinny or two of ‘em are engaged.”

 

“He said there was room for me,” Legolas said, frowning very heavily. “Right, Gimli?”

 

“Uh, ‘course,” Gimli said from behind the tree. Frodo leaned over and peered through the branches, trying to catch a glimpse of what color Gimli’s ears were; they’d always turn red when he was lying about something important. “Erm, Kíli’s going to drive his car with him and Tauriel in it, because they want to stop off somewhere and do something. I dunno.”

 

Frodo leaned a little too far, and caught himself by sticking his hand out, but managed to catch sight of Gimli’s bent double frame behind the tree; his ears were a classic shade of tomato.

 

“Are you sure?” Sam asked suspiciously.

 

“Course I am!” Gimli barked, then appeared around the other side when Sam started to creep a little too close. “Something about Tauriel’s doctorate paper.”

 

“Tauriel doesn’t do work over Christmas,” Sam asked, again, suspicious.

 

“I don’t know, you’d have to ask them,” Gimli snapped. He ducked out from behind the tree, grabbed a handful of tinsel, then started scattering it randomly over the tree’s branches. “There, decorated,” he said, then made a rapid exit to the basement. Frodo watched him go, then hummed, just as suspicious as Sam.

 

“I don’t get it,” Eowyn repeated.

 

“I’m gonna go check something,” said Legolas, and just as rapidly exited, as if pursued by a bear.

 

“What’s the big deal?” asked Eowyn.

 

“One, Gim’s a fucking terrible liar,” Frodo answered.

 

“Two, he’s fucking terrible at hiding his emotions,” added Sam.

 

“He’s in love with Legolas,” Faramir said.

 

Eowyn frowned deeply; she opened her mouth, furrowed her brow, closed her mouth again, and then shook her head and glanced between the three of them. “Since when?”

 

Frodo, Sam, and Faramir exchanged looks. Then, all three of them burst into laughter. Eowyn, her face still written with heavy confusion, half-shouted: “What’s so funny? Guys, come on!”

 

Frodo, shaking his head heavily, patted Eowyn on the shoulder and said: “Don’t worry dear, you’ll get it when you’re older.”

 

Faramir and Sam burst into renewed laughter as Eowyn’s frown doubled in confusion.

 

_ii_

_Faramir_

 

The tree decorated and his girlfriend confused, Faramir followed Eowyn and Arod down to the basement and her bedroom. Eowyn flopped down onto her bed and Arod scrabbled up to join her, and Faramir took the rolling chair, like usual.

 

“Seriously, how long has Legolas been in love with Gimli?” Eowyn demanded, and Faramir started to giggle again. “I thought they hated each other!”

 

Faramir rolled his chair closer to the bed and flopped into her lap to laugh some more. Eowyn huffed above him and Arod began nosing at his hair.

 

“I get it, I’m oblivious,” Eowyn said.

 

“This explains why you had no clue I fancied you,” Faramir snorted.

 

“I don’t understand people,” Eowyn grumbled.

 

He sat and propped his elbows up on the bed, looking up at her and continuing to chuckle. “You’re adorable,” he said, because he could.

 

She blushed and shoved at him gently; Faramir snorted again and picked up her hand to kiss it. She blushed twice as hard and he grinned. It was a good color on her.

 

“Alright, but how long have Gimli and Legolas not actually hated each other?” she asked. “Seriously.”

 

“The entire time, my dear,” he said, “they put up this act entirely because they’re in love with each other.”

 

“I do not understand humans,” Eowyn mumbled.

 

Faramir darted in and pecked her on the lips. “That’s alright, you’re adorable anyway.”

 

Eowyn blushed a third time. Faramir smirked.

 

And Arod barked. The both of them jumped, looking at the dog, who waved his paw in the air at Eowyn’s hand clasped in Faramir’s, before getting up and licking the side of Faramir’s face. Eowyn laughed as Faramir cringed and scrubbed at his face with his sleeve.

 

“I think Arod thinks you’re adorable, too,” she said snarkily.

 

“I’m very adorable,” Faramir grumbled. “Thanks, Arod.”

 

Eowyn dropped a kiss on top of his head and ruffled his hair, as if he were a wee boy of six rather than her boyfriend. “Arod has good taste,” she said.

 

Faramir kissed her again. She smiled against his lips.

 

“Hey, so, let’s talk Christmas.”

 

Faramir sighed heavily and dropped his face onto Eowyn’s bed while Eowyn herself groaned and Eomer walked in, followed by an appropriately bashful Boromir. Eomer crossed to the bed, gave Arod a light shove, and dropped down onto it only for Arod to immediately lay down on his lap. Boromir gave the dog a pat and a scratch behind the ears before leaning on the desk.

 

“Thank you for knocking, you useless giant,” Eowyn quipped.

 

“You’re welcome,” Eomer answered. “Christmas. When do we leave?”

 

“We?” Faramir repeated, frowning.

 

“Oh, did I forget to tell you?” Eowyn said, and he looked back at her. “You’re coming with us home for Christmas.”

 

Faramir’s face went blank. First, he felt all sorts of warm feelings in his gut because his girlfriend wanted him to stay with her for Christmas. Second, he felt all sorts of panic in his gut because his girlfriend wanted him to stay with her for Christmas at home, with her family.

 

“Er,” he said.

 

“Well, you and your brother are coming for Christmas,” Eomer said, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m thinking we leave Sunday after term ends.”

 

“I want to leave Friday,” Eowyn said immediately.

 

“I knew you’d say that,” Eomer said. “No.”

 

“We’re leaving Friday,” Eowyn repeated stubbornly.

 

“It’s a five-hour drive!” Eomer whined. “I don’t want to have eight hours of classes and then drive for five hours!”

 

“So, let’s leave Saturday,” Boromir suggested.

 

“Everyone else is leaving Saturday,” Eomer said. “Plus, Gimli’s cousins are going to be here. The house is going to be in chaos. We should leave on Sunday.”

 

“Fair point,” Boromir mused.

 

“But I want to leave on Friday,” Eowyn insisted, whining almost as much as her brother. “I want to sleep in _my_ bed for once, back home, on a bed that’s not the size of a sixpence.”

 

“Worried about capacity, are you?” Eomer questioned, and Eowyn hit him in the arm while Faramir buried his face in the quilt. “I’m joking, I’m joking!”

 

“I keep rolling into the wall,” Eowyn sniffed.

 

“You’ve been here four months!” Eomer insisted.

 

Eowyn grabbed a pillow and hit him over the head with it. “You’ve always had a twin bed, you don’t know!”

 

“You’ve got a twin bed?” Boromir said abruptly, and with concern, as if worried for capacity. Eomer opened his mouth and Eowyn hit him with the pillow again. “Never mind,” Boromir said, looking at the ceiling with a slight blush. Faramir groaned again, because he did not like what was being implied in the slightest.

 

“We should leave Sunday!” Eomer repeated.

 

“Friday!”

 

“Saturday,” Boromir said again, with a sigh almost as heavy as Faramir’s.

 

“Fine,” Eomer said, then looked directly at him. “You pick.”

 

“Me?” Faramir said, startled.

 

“Yeah, pick one, and we’ll go with that one,” Eomer said huffily. “Don’t pick Friday.”

 

Eowyn dropped onto her elbows to peer into his eyes and pouted. Faramir blinked.

 

“Friday,” he said.

 

Eowyn whooped and Eomer groaned into his hands, then Eowyn kissed him again and he was greatly distracted. He thought he heard Eomer saying something about public indecency, before the door shut and Eowyn released him.

 

“You’re the best,” she said proudly.

 

“I only have three classes Friday, anyway,” Faramir mumbled. It had been a _very_ good kiss.

 

Eowyn pecked the tip of his nose. “By the way,” she said, “I have a queen size bed.”

 

Heat rose in Faramir’s face, but he smirked to match her smile. “Room for two?” he said quietly.

 

“And a dog could even fit as well,” she murmured. Arod barked, effectively ending the moment.

 

Until Eowyn kissed him again, that is. Faramir was not going to complain.

 

_iii_

_Legolas_

 

Back in his room, Legolas chucked his phone onto his bed to grab his laptop and hide behind it for the next several hours. He tried watching Netflix, but he kept getting distracted so he switched to browsing Instagram on his phone. Then Arwen texted him, and he switched to playing Farmville. Then Arwen messaged him again, and he had to give in.

 

 _from_ **_Annoying Sister I Never Had:_ **

are you going to talk to me about this or what?

 

 _to_ **_Annoying Sister I Never Had:_ **

About what?

 

 _from_ **_Annoying Sister I Never Had:_ **

about Gimli you prick

 

 _to_ **_Annoying Sister I Never Had:_ **

There’s nothing to discuss.

 

 _from_ **_Annoying Sister I Never Had:_ **

rumor has it he’s kicking his cousins out of his car so he can drive you to Glasgow. That’s somethign to discuss.

 

Irked, Legolas corrected her spelling.

 

 _from_ **_Annoying Sister I Never Had:_ **

don’t be a dick Leggy what’s going on

 

 _to_ **_Annoying Sister I Never Had:_ **

Nothing

 

 _from_ **_Annoying Sister I Never Had:_ **

don’t lie to me Leggy

 

Legolas shut his eyes and exhaled forcefully through his nose. He typed something, backspaced, typed something else, then groaned, dropped his phone, and covered his eyes with his hands. Arwen had a point.

 

He picked up the phone again.

 

 _to_ **_Annoying Sister I Never Had:_ **

fuck

 

 _from_ **_Annoying Sister I Never Had:_ **

that’s the spirit

 

Arwen started to type, then stopped, and for a full minute, nothing happened. Legolas frowned, shrugged, and went back to Farmville, when his door opened and the devil herself entered. Arwen sat herself on the end of his bed, folded her hands in her lap, and blinked expectantly at him.

 

“So, you were saying?” she said.

 

Legolas shut his computer with a snap and glared at her. “Fine, Gimli did say I could tag along with him and his cousins back north for Christmas, he said there would be plenty of room in his car, and apparently he was lying, happy?”

 

“How does that make you feel?” Arwen asked.

 

“Like a shithead!” Legolas snapped, and crossed his arms over his chest to glare at his closed laptop.

 

“Because Gimli was lying or because Gimli lied to help you out?” she asked.

 

Legolas scowled some more. Arwen waited patiently. Finally, he let out a noise of frustration and covered his face with his hands.

 

“Let it out, love,” Arwen said softly.

 

“I think I like him,” Legolas mumbled.

 

With his head in his hands, he did not see whether or not Arwen pumped a fist in victory, but he assumed she did.

 

“And he likes you?” she suggested.

 

“Obviously not, I irritate the hell out of him,” Legolas insisted and Arwen groaned. “Look, he’s obviously only doing this because he feels bad about having sex with me even though he can’t stand me.”

 

“You’re blind, Leggy,” Arwen sighed.

 

“I’m not blind!” Legolas insisted, lifting his head up to glare at her again. “Besides, even if he didn’t hate my guts, it’s not like we could ever actually be together, our families do actually hate each other.”

 

“My dad resents Aragorn, doesn’t stop me,” Arwen said.

 

“Yeah, well, your dad resents Aragorn because he made you independent and your dad doesn’t want you to not need him anymore,” Legolas snapped, making Arwen’s face close off. “Our families are legitimately feuding, over bloody alcohol!”

 

“Alcohol is a serious topic,” Arwen said flatly. She was trying to ignore his comment about Aragorn and her father, which, in hindsight, Legolas knew he shouldn’t have said, but it was true and both of them knew it deep down.

 

“It can’t happen,” Legolas insisted.

 

“Free your imagination, Leggy,” Arwen said.

 

“Stop calling me Leggy,” Legolas mumbled.

 

“Unleash your inner potential, Lego,” Arwen whispered.

 

Legolas shut his eyes. Arwen shifted on the bed, then hissed in his ear, “Release your inner Durinson trash, Lego. Raise it up out of the depths of your black and icy heart, raise your hands in the hallelujah of love from your heart and stop pretending you hate Gimli.”

 

“I’m literally going to hit you,” he mumbled.

 

“Let yourself love,” Arwen whispered.

 

“I hate you,” Legolas said, but he was starting to chuckle.

 

“Who’d you think you’re kidding,” Arwen whisper-sang, and Legolas snorted, “he’s the earth and heaven to you, try to keep it hidden, honey, I can see right through you.”

 

“I hate you so much,” Legolas snorted, shoving her away from his ear as she continued to sing at him. “I hate that song.”

 

“Come on,” Arwen prompted.

 

Legolas collapsed onto her shoulder, his eyes shutting as he groaned and smiled a little anyway. Arwen chuckled and pulled at the tie of his braid, undoing it and beginning to comb through it with her fingers. He gave a soft sigh, letting the gentle scratch of her nails against his scalp soothe the tension from his shoulders and from his chest.

 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he murmured.

 

“Nobody does,” she answered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _happy halloween guys fun fact this chapter can be a drinking game, if you're of legal drinking age and have nothing to do with your evening or following morning take a shot everytime i make a bad shakespeare reference legolas throws a bauble or eowyn hits someone with a pillow_   
>  _i'm kidding don't listen to me i'm not promoting alcohol consumption please drink responsibly if you do and all my shakespeare references are excellent_

**Author's Note:**

> _follow me on[ or support me on ](https://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/)[ko-fi.](https://ko-fi.com/A6471DU1)_


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